They Do Dream Things True
by Marla Fair
Summary: When 10 year old Joe awakes screaming his pa's name, his brothers assume the young boy is afraid since their pa is away in Placerville. What they can't know is that Joe's nightmare is all too real and their brother's reaction to it will catapult all four Cartwrights on a journey that will end with both their father and little brother losing their lives – unless Heaven intervenes.
1. Chapter 1

_Romeo & Juliet Act One Scene 4_

 _Romeo: I dream'd a dream tonight._

 _Mercurtio: And so did I._

 _Romeo: W_ _ell, what was yours?_

 _Mercurtio:_ _That dreamers often lie._

 _Romeo:_ _In bed asleep, while they do dream things true._

" _PUH-AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_

Two doors opened at the same instant onto the hallway in the wing of the Ponderosa ranch house that contained the bedrooms of Ben Cartwright's trio of young sons.

Two sleepy heads appeared outside of those doors, followed closely by two very weary, rather irritated male forms.

Twenty-two year old Adam Cartwright rubbed his head and then ran a hand along the back of his neck as he looked down the hall toward his little brother's room. "How many nights has it been now?" he asked his middle brother Hoss.

"Four," the teenager said, shaking his own head of reddish-blond hair.

" _Only_ four? Are you sure?" Adam sighed. "I'm thinking it's five."

"Pretty sure it's four. There was that night Joe thought he saw the shadow of a giant on the wall that was comin' to get him."

"...thanks to Uncle Gunnar's tale of the end of the world as related by a certain middle brother just as _little_ brother was going to sleep."

Hoss scowled. "Who'd a thought that little squirt would believe a wolf was gonna swallow up the world?"

"Which led to number two – the nightmare about that wolf eating Little Joe."

"I guess so," his brother admitted.

"I _know_ so."

" _PUH-AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_

Hoss shook his head. "That little cuss sure has got a set of lungs on him, ain't he?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "I can't seem to remember. What was number three?"

"That'd be the one about Hop Sing."

Adam pressed two fingers to his forehead. "Oh, right. The one where Hop Sing was really a dragon in disguise and he used his breath to cook the roast."

" _And_ Little Joe's hiney," Hoss snorted.

Adam's hazel eyes went to the door down the hall. The handsome but exasperated young man rolled his eyes.

" _I'd_ like to cook Little Joe's hiney..."

"So, what's four?"

"You remember, don't you? Four and five are the same. They had to do with Miss Jones –"

Hoss snapped his fingers. "Dang it, Adam, if you ain't right!"

He nodded. "Miss Jones – who, by the way, gave _me_ nightmares as well when she was my teacher years ago – is really a witch..."

"...who hates little boys – 'specially ones by the name of Joe."

" _PUH-AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_

With one eye open and one eye closed, Adam winced. "Can't imagine why."

"So she keeps 'em after school," Hoss went on, "and then makes 'em disappear..."

"...telling their parents that they ran away when, in reality, she's cooking and eating them."

Hoss ' head was bobbin' up and down like a nag. "Well, _I'll_ eat my hat. You're right it _was_ five."

" _PUH-AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_

"Six," Adam sighed. "They're coming closer together now. I suppose one of us should go in and wake him."

Hoss was a giant at seventeen, weighing in over two hundred pounds and pushing six foot one.

He looked scared.

"Cain't we just, well, you know, let Joe wake up by hisself?" Hoss ran a hand along his shoulder. "The last time Joe dang near broke my collarbone kicking back with his feet."

He scoffed. "I'll trade _that_ for the time he came right up out of the bed and knocked me into the wall – "

"Thinking you was that there Polly Prentiss what tried to kiss him in back of the school," Hoss grinned.

Adam touched his jaw, remembering Little Joe's small fist hitting his flesh. He only hoped his ten year old brother hadn't really punched Polly Prentiss...

 _Or_ kissed her.

"I'll flip you for it," Adam sighed.

Hoss looked skeptical. "How do I know you ain't got a two-headed coin?"

"You can have heads. I'll take tales." Adam placed his hand on the doorknob, ready to retrieve the coin, but stopped short of opening it. Turning back, he said, "Do you hear it?"

Hoss shook his head. "Hear what?"

"Listen."

He did. "To what? Joe ain't shoutin' no more."

"That's what I mean. Listen."

A different sound drifted along the half-lit hallway. Not the robust howl of a boy facing down imaginary foes, but a sad, forlorn whimpering.

Little Joe was crying.

Hoss looked like he'd shot himself in the foot. " _Dag-nabbit,_ Joe, that ain't fair," he breathed.

Adam scowled. "Joe's ten years old. What does he know of 'fair'?"

The two of them looked at each other. They'd faced down rustlers, fought off Indians, and even survived Miss Jones. What was it about one crying little boy that made their knees go to jelly?

"You're the oldest," Hoss said at last.

Adam was tired of rolling his eyes, so he just shut them. A moment later they reopened and focused on the door to Joe's room. As he started down the hall, the oldest of Ben Cartwright's sons sighed.

"This is _not_ what I came home from college for."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam pushed the door open. "Joe," he called softly as he stepped in. "Joe, it's Adam."

It was the middle of the night. The only light in the room was the pale glow that entered through Joe's window, cast by the waxing October moon. His little brother's bed was full-size even though Joe, well, wasn't. At first he couldn't find him in the tempest of rumpled pillows and twisted blankets left in the wake of the storm of his latest nightmare. Then he spotted his youngest brother curled up so tightly in one corner of the bed he'd all but disappeared. Joe'd been experiencing night terrors ever since their father left for Placerville almost two weeks back to wrangle over grazing rights with a competitor and pick up some extra cash for the payroll. The Virginia City bank had had a run when a rumor leaked out that it was financially shaky. He'd talked to the owner and been assured it was not. Adam looked at his brother again. Out of the ten days Pa'd been gone, this made the sixth where he and Hoss had been abruptly awakened in the middle of the night by their little brother's screams. Joe had always been prone to nightmares. Most likely they were a consequence of his healthy and over-active imagination. Still, the usual toll on their sleep was maybe one night out of fourteen. Six out of ten was a _record._ It made him wonder what was going on in that little curly-brown head.

Thank goodness Pa would be home the day after tomorrow.

Approaching the bed and its occupant with the respect he would a sleeping grizzly, Adam called out again.

"Joe. It's Adam. Are you awake?"

Gauging the distance between himself and the softly sobbing ball of boy in the bed – making certain he would be out of range for both feet and fists – Adam took a tentative seat on its edge and tried again.

"Joe?"

Due to the moonlight he could just make out his brother's small shoulders showing above the satin edge of the thick wool blanket that covered him. They shook with each ragged breath Joe drew .

"Hey, Adam!" Hoss's reddish head poked through the opening in the door. "You got him – "

Adam held a hand up for silence and then pressed a finger to his lips before waving Hoss in. When his brother was standing at his side, Adam indicated the little boy with a nod.

Joe was talking in his sleep.

When Hoss spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "What's he talkin' about? Can you tell?"

While he doubted a ten year old had _too_ many secrets, it still made Adam uneasy listening to his brother's unconscious words. "Not much. He mostly keeps calling for Pa."

Hoss took hold of the chair near Joe's dresser. He dragged it over, turned it backwards, and sat down. Then he leaned his elbows on the chair-back and fixed his eyes on his still sound asleep little brother.

"Do _you_ remember, Adam, if Joe was havin' nightmares afore Ma...afore Marie died?"

He didn't miss the correction. It was for his sake. While he had called his pa's third wife 'Marie', Joe and Hoss had called her 'Mama' and then 'Ma'.

He shook his head. "I went to school..."

"Oh, yeah. I plumb forgot. Guess you wouldn't then." His brother scowled. "Well, I been tryin' to wrack my brain these last few days. Seems to me that he didn't." His brother's ice-blue eyes flicked to the third member of the Cartwright brotherly trio. "Least wise _nothin'_ like this."

They'd done their best to keep up with their determined, headstrong, and rambunctious little brother while their pa had been gone. At first Adam had let Joe tag along with him and Hoss rather than remaining in the ranch house with Hop Sing when they went out to ride the line and round up strays. Joe'd been eager to go and _too_ eager to help. When he told him to stay put, he didn't. When he grumbled that Joe needed to listen and do what he was told, his brother got mouthy, telling him he was a better rancher and could bring all those cattle in by himself in half the time if he'd just get out of his way. He'd been tempted to comply, but figured Pa coming home to the trampled body of his youngest son was something he should avoid. The last straw had been when he told Joe to stay out of the corral and _then_ found him riding bareback astride one of their freshly broken horses.

He figured Pa wouldn't like it if he came home to fratricide either, so from that point on he had banned Joe from the range and left him to help Hop Sing with the household chores.

Adam grinned. _That_ had been a fine day. He'd come home early only to find the house quiet. At first he'd been relieved and then, puzzled, and finally concerned. He could hear Hop Sing in the kitchen humming a Mandarin tune, rattling dishes, shifting pans, and obviously cooking supper. Joe was nowhere to be seen. After a quick sweep of the house, he'd returned to the kitchen to find his little brother sitting on the chair by the cook's island with his hands tied behind his back and a gag in his mouth.

When his sympathetic stare went to their Chinese cook, Hop Sing remarked. "Little Joe and Hop Sing have _velly_ good time. Play much."

He'd had to swallow his smile as his little brother's eyes sought him out. Joe's expressive eyebrows were drawn together in consternation.

"And just _what_ were you two playing?" he'd asked.

The Chinese man reached over and caught a feathered headband from the table. He put it on his head. "Hop Sing Indian," he said, his black eyes sparkling. "Little Joe prisoner."

He really shouldn't have burst out laughing.

That had been two days before. Since then Joe had gone on to prove that not only was he stubborn and determined and rambunctious, he could also be downright unpleasant. His little brother had refused to talk to any of them, nursing a grudge that was watered with enough anger and self-pity to have the potential to overtake the year's record-breaking harvest.

Adam looked at Joe again. It was hard, dealing with him. Joe'd been barely more than five when he went off to school. He'd returned the year before – for all intents and purposes as a stranger – sliding back into his place at his father's side as if he had never been away. But he _had_ been away and Joe knew it.

And resented it.

He couldn't blame the kid, really. He doubted Joe remembered any of their time together from before he went East. But _he_ did. He remembered holding his little brother in his arms for the first time shortly after his birth, marveling at the power of his lungs and his will to survive. He remembered too waking to feed Joe in the middle of the night in order to let his Pa and Marie rest. And then there was that time when Joe was barely school age. He might have been seven. He'd been home for the summer and he and Hoss and Pa had just finished with breakfast and were ready to head to town. Joe was a no-show – again. When their pa made some sort of an excuse saying Joe had a cold and probably needed the extra sleep, he just snapped. Plain and simple snapped. He'd been out of his chair and up the stairs, thrusting Joe's door open and shouting at the top of his lungs that he'd better get his sorry little ass out of bed and get dressed and be out that door in five minutes or he'd take a strap to his backside.

Joe was curled up on the bed, the covers wrapped tightly around him. He didn't respond.

He couldn't.

Adam drew in a breath and let it blow out his nostrils in a steadying stream. He remembered striding over to the bed and taking hold of Joe's shoulder, intending to shake some sense into him. It was then he realized his brother was fevered. The whooping cough started about twelve hours late and continued for two months.

 _Two_ months.

Joe almost died.

He'd learned then that with Marie's son things were seldom going to be what they seemed. Hoss was an open book, pretty much like _his_ mother had been. But Marie had secrets – some of them dark – and she'd been good at concealing them. Joe's mother had been as high-spirited as the horses her son now loved and just as headstrong as Joe; just as prone to leap before looking, to reach too _high_ , too fall too far. Adam winced as if from a sudden headache. He had a flash of the beautiful woman on her horse in front of the house, riding up at a breakneck pace just because she could, and then of Marie on the ground. She'd been riding too fast that day –

And fallen as far as she could go.

"Adam," Hoss said, breaking into his nearly classic reverie. He heard his brother stand up and scoot the chair back. "I think Joe's wakin' up."

His little brother _was_ stirring. The whimpering had fallen off to next to nothing now and, most likely, when Joe woke he would be none too happy to find his older brothers keeping watch over him. Adam scowled. Joe had something else in common with those freshly broken horses that, frankly, terrified him since it was contained in the very young, extremely vulnerable hide of a ten year old boy he loved.

He was prideful.

And pride, as Pa always told them, went before destruction.

Hoss was already out of the room. Adam heard his middle brother's door close.

He needed to do the same.

Adam rose to his feet and stood for a moment at the foot of Joe's bed. Roy Coffee had come out a few days back, warning them of bad men in the area. There were three of them – two known outlaws and a third unidentified man. They'd robbed the bank in Mesa Vista and been reported to be heading toward Ponderosa land. He'd watched his little brother's green eyes light with the thrill of it all – the defying of convention, the daring bank robbery itself, the flight on fast horses from the law, and finally the criminals' – yes, _criminals_ ' – escape. After Joe and Hoss had gone to bed, he'd sat with the lawman on the porch. Roy had the rocker while he'd perched on the edge of the table. They talked about the town and then his experiences back East, and then, without warning, the topic had become _Joe_.

"You know, Adam," Roy said as he rose to leave, "I worry about that youngest one of your Pa's."

"Joe?" he'd asked and then laughed. "I worry about him too. I worry about keeping him _alive_ long enough to become a man."

The lawman didn't laugh. He nodded.

"Roy, what is it?"

The sheriff had drawn in a deep breath. He let it out so slowly it stirred the long whiskers in his mustache. "Now, I don't want to be talkin' out of turn. You know I respect your pa more than any other man."

He thought he knew what was coming.

"Go on."

Roy' clear blue eyes sought and held his gaze. "That boy's angry. Now, he's got a 'cause to be what with his mother dyin' with both him and her bein' so young."

"But..."

"With you and Hoss your pa seemed to walk the line, you know what I mean? Never too much to one side of the other. Just right. And he made you just about as right as men can be."

"Thank you, Roy," he replied, and then added, his tone concerned, "What is it you want to say, but you're _not_ saying, Roy?"

He shook his head. "You're pa just don't walk _or_ see straight where that boy is concerned. Ben oughta know better. You give some high-spirited mulish-minded maverick his head and he'll break his neck." He turned to look directly at him. "I seen an awful lot of good boys go bad because of a lack of a restraining hand."

He knew Roy was right. Well, at least in a way. Pa saw Marie in Joe – beautiful, feisty, sure-of-herself, easy to laugh and easier to cry, incredibly strong and incredibly _fragile_ Marie – and that stayed his hand. As much as _he_ had been formed by his father in the image of his mother – steady, rock-solid, clear-headed, poetry-loving Elizabeth – and Hoss by his pa's memories of Inger, Joe was growing up in the shadow of Marie.

He only hoped it wasn't too dark in there for the kid.

Adam let out one final sigh – well, for _tonight_ at least – and returned to the head of the bed. Joe had not awakened. He'd shifted, pulled the covers up over his shoulders, and gone back into a deeper, more restful sleep. The black-haired man stood looking at his little brother for a minute and then bent and pressed his lips to that curly brown head. It wouldn't be long before he wouldn't dare do it.

So he was going to do it while he could.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe Cartwright waited until he heard the door open and close – waited a full _sixty_ seconds – and then cracked an eyelid and did the best he could to look sideways into his room without really looking – just in case Adam or Hoss were hiding there somewhere. When he was sure they weren't, he sat up in bed and drew his knees up to his chest and circled them with his arms. Slowly he drew in a deep breath and let the air out in one forcefully blown 'Whew!'

As Pa's foreman Andy would say, he felt fagged out and fit for flaying.

Pa didn't like him hanging around Andy.

Joe glanced out the window thinking about that day, almost two weeks back, when he'd watched his pa ride away, heading for Placerville. Pa being gone left a hole in him right there next to the hole that had opened up and never closed when his ma died. Adam told him once that 'nature abhors a vacuum'. He'd been mighty puzzled by that, wondering how Adam was talking about such a thing with pa right there in the room and didn't end up with his mouth being washed out with soap. He'd asked Hoss about it later and middle brother had laughed and laughed. Course, when he asked Hoss what the meaning of 'abhor' was, the big galoot didn't have an answer.

Then _he'd_ been the one to laugh.

That night he asked his pa what Adam meant and Pa had told him that empty and unfilled spaces were unnatural and wouldn't be satisfied until something filled them up.

Joe shivered all the way from his curly brown head down to his bare toes. He had a vacuum in him and he knew what that 'something' was that was gonna fill him up.

It came to visit him in the night.

Shinnying out of bed, Joe drew his hand-me-down nightshirt up about his shoulders and held it closed with a fist while he crossed over to the table in front of the window. They could afford a new one but pa told him that was a waste of money and that the one he had on that had been Adam's was 'handsomely made' and would fit him well enough once he'd gained a little muscle. As it was it kept slipping down on his shoulders and made him feel even more like a kid dressing up in his pa's clothes. Only it wasn't his pa's. It was Adam's.

And Adam _wasn't_ his pa.

Joe's teeth gritted together so hard it made his jaw ache. Just who did Adam think he was anyway, coming back so high-and-mighty from school, ordering them around, telling him and Hoss what to do on a ranch he hadn't seen for more than four years? They'd done fine without him before and they sure could do without him now. It had been awful the last week with pa gone. Adam acted like he'd been crowned king of the Ponderosa or something, telling them his word was law and he and Hoss had better do as he said or else.

'Or else _what?'_ he'd shot back.

Adam's hazel eyes had said it for him.

 _I'll tell Pa._

Joe caught a glass from the table by his dresser and took a swig of tepid water. He glanced at his bed, but just couldn't _quite_ go back there yet. Instead, he crossed to his bedroom door, opened it a crack, and looked out into the hall. Once he was sure it was empty Joe went to the stair and descended through the darkness into the great room. The fire was out so the room was completely still. It was _so_ still the stillness sent a shiver up his back. It was kinda cold too. He looked longingly at the stairs. His room was warm. The fire was still hot. But then, in his room, there was that bed and those pillows and blankets and all that went with sleep including the one image he just couldn't get out of his head.

His pa laying at the bottom of a deep ravine, bleeding, with a bullet in his side.

Joe shuddered and tried to shake off the feeling of dread. He knew it was a dream. Had to be. What else _could_ it be? But he'd had the same dream night after night after night, as if his pa – or maybe God was calling out to him. He remembered pa said God spoke in dreams.

God called good and righteous men that way in times of great need.

Joe halted in front of the big blue velvet chair. He stood there a minute, weighing the need of the child he' was against the man he knew he had to become. Finally, coming to a decision, he sat down and shifted back into it as far as he could and let it embrace him as his absent father could not. He imagined his pa was sitting there, holding him, touching his hair and speaking soft words to soothe away the nightmares, smelling of soap and sweat and smoke and pine.

Pa was in trouble.

Pa needed him.

Somehow, in spite of Adam, he'd find a way to rescue him. He _had_ to.

Big brothers or not, God hadn't called Adam or Hoss.

He'd called _him._

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next morning when Adam came downstairs with his brother Hoss in tow, fully dressed and ready to begin the day, he found Little Joe curled up in their father's chair in the great room sound asleep. He and Hoss were heading out after breakfast to round up more steers. To Hop Sing's relief Joe had asked if he could go visit his friend Seth and Seth's dad was coming by later in the day to pick him up. It would do the kid some good, he and middle brother had agreed. Maybe raising a little ten year old _Hell_ with Seth would tucker Joe out and he'd be able to sleep tonight.

As Hop Sing bustled into the room carrying a plate of steaming bacon and eggs, Hoss scratched his head and Adam shook his. They exchanged puzzled glances and then left Joe where he was.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It would be a long time before either of them would see him again.


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

Joe Cartwright sighted along the dull gray edge and then aimed, flinging the flat stone he held across the shining surface of the lake, watching it skip time after time with the same precision and aim that he would have fired a bullet.

If he'd been allowed to have a handgun.

"Hey! That was good!" his buddy Seth proclaimed. Then he whistled. "Eight skips, Joe! I bet that's some kind of a record."

Seth was a good friend. Always there to back him up. Which was why Joe was kinda surprised that he was wasting time skipping stones and waiting for Seth to give him an answer to his question.

After wiping the mud off of his hands and onto his gray pants, Joe raised his thick eyebrows and asked, "So?"

Seth looked nervous. "'So' what?"

Joe's temper flared. He head-talked it calmly, getting it to settle down like he'd seen his pa do to a snarling dog. "Sooooo...you got my back, or what?"

Seth didn't look at him. His friend's brown boot toed the mud and then kicked at a stone. "I don't know, Joe..."

 _Down boy_ , he thought, _down_. "Why not?"

It took a second. Then Seth lifted his head and met his fiery stare. "Joe, this ain't like distracting Miss Jones while you slip out, and then telling her your Pa sent a ranch hand into town to take you home early."

" _Why_ ain't it?"

Seth fairly exploded. "Joe! Placerville is _forty_ miles away, for _Gosh_ sake! You gotta go through rough country with hills and ravines! There's Indians and bank robbers and snakes and pumas out there! It's gonna be dark, Joe, and..."

Joe folded his arms over his chest and then frowned over them just like his pa did. He was hoping it would scare Seth into agreeing.

It certainly scared him when Pa did it.

"Your point?" he demanded.

Seth's form tensed like he was expecting a punch.

"Joe, you're just a kid."

He could hear that dog growling in his head, barking fury. Joe's fingers tensed and formed into fists. "Don't you call me a _'kid'_ ," he snarled.

"But you are! _I_ am, Joe. " Seth was holding his ground, which said a lot. "Why don't you tell Hoss or Adam what you – "

"I ain't telling that there block-headed Yankee anything!" he shouted.

"I'm a Yankee too," Seth said softly.

Joe froze. "Well, if you are," he said at last, drawing in several breaths and willing his fists to relax, "at least _you_ ain't a block-headed one."

 _Aren't_ , he heard his pa's voice correcting in his head.

His friend hesitated. "How about telling Hoss then and seeing what he thinks?"

Joe shook his head. "They ain't...they're not gonna listen to me, I told you. Adam has to have something he can have in his hands to prove its gonna happen and Hoss'll just think I'm...I'm missing my pa."

He was, of course, but that wasn't why he intended to ride away as soon as he could. His pa's life was in danger. He knew it. He knew it just as sure as the sun rose in the morning and set at night.

 _He_ had to save him.

When his friend said nothing, Joe went on. "Seth, what if it was you? What if you kept sleeping and kept dreaming that something terrible was going to happen? Wouldn't you feel like you _had_ to go out and stop it?"

Seth was looking at the lake. "I'm not sure, Joe. I think... I think I'd try to make them listen to me first. Maybe go to the sheriff."

"Waste of time," he said, waving it off with his hand. He knew Roy Coffee. He was friends with his father. "You could show Sheriff Coffee a cloud leaking water and a puddle underneath it and he _still_ wouldn't believe it was raining.

Joe drew in a breath and squared his shoulders. "All I'm asking of you, Seth, is to tell your ma and pa I left for home early. That's it."

"What if they ask who come and got you?"

He thought hard. "Tell them my pa did on the way back from Placerville. They can't question him."

"But that's an out and out _lie_ , Joe!"

Joe crossed to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder like his pa did to him when he wanted him to listen real close to what he had to say. In fact, it was so important he used both hands and both of Seth's shoulders.

"I _am_ going to meet Pa. He _will_ be taking me home. So it ain't a lie." He paused, glancing heavenward and waiting for the lightning bolt. "It's just a truth that's gonna take a little time to happen."

Seth was wavering. "What you gonna do for a horse?"

He'd thought that out. They had a lot of horses. He'd gone out shortly after Adam and Hoss left that morning and pulled one in from a big bunch corralled a little ways off from the house. It was the one he'd ridden bareback a few days before, so he knew he could handle it. It was tethered to a tree and hidden a little ways back toward the Ponderosa.

"I got one. I left it between here and home." Joe glanced up at the sky. The sun was past its zenith and heading to the west. "I really gotta get going, Seth. Adam and Hoss will expect me to be home after supper. I gotta build up a lead."

Seth shook his head slowly. "They're gonna _skin_ you."

Yes, they would – if he was wrong.

But he wasn't.

"You let me worry about that."

His friend stared at him, drew in a dying man's gasp of air, and then nodded.

A minute later the two boys went their separate ways.

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Ben Cartwright reined in his horse and drew to a halt. He removed his hat and wiped his sleeve across his forehead, noting how the abundance of sweat transformed the powder blue fabric to a gun-metal gray. His dark brown eyes narrowed as he looked at the sky, squinting in the sun. It was just after noon and he was still far enough out from Ponderosa lands that it would mean another night sleeping beneath the stars which, on most occasions, he would have welcomed. But he didn't like the look of the sky any more than the unusual heat. It was as gun-metal gray as his shirt had become. There were no clouds – or rather, _everything_ was clouds. The firmament over his head looked like a gray piece of paper waiting for someone to scribble something on it. He knew what that meant.

Somewhere a storm was being drawn in lightning and thunder.

After replacing his hat on his brown hair, which was quickly turning gray, Ben dismounted. He led Buck to a short tree bristling with green leaves going gold and a patch of sweet grass under it and laced his reins through the extended fingers of its branches. Then he stretched, pressing his arms outward, clenching and unclenching his muscles. That brought on a yawn. He was tired, but it was a _good_ tired because it meant he would see his boys tomorrow morning at the latest rather than late the next night. The trip had been necessary. They were due to make payroll and the Virginia City bank just didn't have enough cash to cover it after what had happened. It was a curious business, that bank run, triggered by idle speculation and rumor and nothing more. He hoped the bank manager had managed to allay the fears of the good people of Virginia City and that things would soon return to normal. While Placerville was not that far away, depending on the road, the weather, and what he had to do there – two things _this_ time – he could be away a week or two and he didn't like to leave his boys for that long.

Although now, with Adam home again, his burden had been eased somewhat.

Ben reached for the canteen hanging from Buck's saddle horn. Opening it, he took a swig. As he capped it, the older man shook his head _. Burden._ Why did he choose that word? His sons were never a burden to him. They were more of a charge, a trust for the future; one he had promised each of their mothers on their deathbeds that he would nurture and care for until they grew to men who no longer needed him. Adam was close _, very_ close. At twenty-two he was a man, but a young and somewhat inexperienced one. Four years at college had taught his eldest many things and while some of them were wonderful, there were others he was not too keen on. Adam had come back changed in some ways – more questioning, less willing to accept his authority and, well, more skeptical, as if he'd lost his connection to the land and maybe to the One who'd created it. Words in books were not reality. Adam needed knowledge of the _real_ world and not one in which men, joined in polite conversation, argued intellectually while discussing abstract theories and absurd hypotheses. His eldest needed to recognize the one he occupied; a world in which a man was forced to make life and death choices day to day, if not minute to minute, and to do it with the guidance of a Heavenly Hand. He wanted his son to be strong in every way.

He wanted _all_ of his sons to be strong.

Of course, no one would doubt that Hoss was, at least physically. All you had to do was look at him. At seventeen he was already a giant of a man. Thinking of his middle boy brought a smile to Ben's tired face. Inger had been so slight. He'd nearly been able to circle her waist with his hands. He didn't know where the boy's size had come from, but he _did_ know what God gave it for.

To watch over his exuberant and energetic little brother.

Joseph.

Ben began to examine his horse's tackle, shifting the saddle so it had a better seat on the blanket beneath, unbuckling and buckling straps, and then pulling on them to make sure they were secure. That youngest boy of his, he was a caution. Marie had warned him. While she was still carrying Joseph, Marie had complained about her side hurting. He'd insisted on taking her to town so Doc Martin could look her over. Paul told her she was carrying the child high and that what she was feeling was its feet pressing against her ribs. 'Just take hold of those feet and move them where you want them,' he told her. That night, Marie had tried it.

The baby within her fought back.

His son had been fighting in this world from the moment he drew a breath. As big as Hoss had been, Joe was small. It had taken him some time to gain weight and, for a time, it had been touch and go. But once that boy got his wind there was no stopping him. No babe cried louder or longer or cooed or giggled more. Ben had a picture in his head. One he would hold close until the day he died. Marie was standing in the great room with her back to him. The sunlight spilled in the open window, turning her golden hair to fire. She was holding Joseph over her shoulder and singing softly while patting his back. While most infant's eyes would grow drowsy with such treatment, Joe's green eyes were wide open. His son was staring at him, challenging him even _then_ to try to define him in any way other than that with which he chose to define himself. All of a sudden Marie turned and looked at him with that same look. Mother and son were two parts of a whole. Two parts...

One soul.

Ben shook himself and scoffed. It was hard. He'd loved Marie so much, it was _hard_ not to look for her and find her in her son. But he had to remind himself – almost daily sometimes – that Joe was _not_ his mother. He was his own wonderful creation.

He was his own unique and beloved son.

Patting Buck on the withers, the older man turned with the canteen in his hand. It was almost empty and he could hear a creek running somewhere close by. He'd fill it, take a moment to eat and rest, and then mount and ride. Glancing at the sky again Ben determined he'd probably be able to travel three or four hours longer before the approaching storm broke.

It looked like it was going to be a whopper.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was nearly dark and Adam was standing in the open door of the ranch house looking out. With some concern he eyed the sky. He'd recognized the signs a few hours back. There was a storm coming. The day before they'd had mares tails clouds riding high, streaming against a brilliant blue sky. Today a gun-metal gray pall overhung the land. It had been unnaturally warm and oppressive for an autumn day and there was a ring around the moon. While it might not turn out to be a gully washer, it had all the promise of a fierce storm, which meant they'd have to watch the horses and other animals to make sure they didn't spook.

Adam twisted and looked at his brother Hoss where he sat on the hearth staring at the checker game he'd been playing with Joe the night before. While they might be able to prevent a stampede, Hoss was already spooked. It had started around the time they sat down to eat supper. Middle brother began to ask when Joe would be home – asking why Joe _wasn't_ home – and then asking if he could go get him. Seth's father was supposed to bring Joe home _sometime_ after supper, he reminded the anxious teenager, and not everyone ate supper at the same time. Joe'll be home by eight, he told him, he was sure. The boys had school tomorrow and Bill Pruitt was sure to want to get back home so Seth could get to bed in time. Adam's hazel eyes flicked to the tall case clock.

It was now quarter _past_ nine.

Almost as if on cue, Hoss sprung up from his seat and headed for the door. " _Dag-nabbit_ , Adam! I'm going after that little squirt."

He eyed the sky again. "There's a storm coming. Maybe Bill decided it wasn't worth the risk. Maybe they're going to keep Joe overnight."

His brother halted. Adam could see the thoughts whirling like wagon's wheels behind his brother's clear blue eyes. For a moment, it seemed, the temptation to believe what he said was almost strong enough to overcome the teenager's worry, since it meant a night of peaceful sleep with no screaming Joe. But only for a moment.

Hoss shook his head slowly. "Adam, I know something's wrong."

Their father had that. An intuition about danger where Joe, well really, where _all_ of them were concerned, though it was felt the most with Joe – probably because it was _needed_ the most with Joe. Now, it seemed Hoss had it as well.

Had _he_ lost it when he cut the apron strings and went East?

"Hoss, I'm sure there's..." Adam's voice fell off even as his fear ratcheted up. Someone was approaching the ranch house and they were coming fast.

Hoss was by him in the open doorway a second later. "Who is it? Can you see? Is it Pa?"

He didn't think so. It sounded more like a wagon or carriage than a single horse. With a glance at his brother they both stepped out the door and waited. It wasn't two minutes before a small wagon appeared with two occupants – one a man, and the other a young boy.

"Is it Joe?" Hoss asked. "Can you see?"

Even as they waited a soft rain began to fall. The clouds closed over the moon and the yard suddenly went dark. Adam squinted, trying to make out the boy's features.

A moment later, his voice betraying his emotion, he said, "It's not Joe."

"How can you tell?"

He pointed to his head. "No curls."

Hoss stepped forward even as the pair began their approach. "I think it's Seth and his pa."

Adam caught the doorjamb with his hand. Seth and his father. _Without_ Joe.

 _Good God_...

Since the rain was falling steadily now, Adam ushered the two into the ranch house and quickly closed the door behind them. He looked from one sodden form to the other. Seth refused to meet his eyes but Bill, well, Bill met them squarely and in the older man's eyes he saw things he had prayed he would not.

Guilt. Shame.

 _Fear._

"Where's Joe?" he asked without preamble.

Bill looked down at his son. The older man's voice was harsh, ragged. "Seth. Tell Adam where his brother is."

The boy's eyes flicked up and then back to the floor. "I don't know where he is," he said quietly.

His father's fingers clutched his shoulder, making the boy wince. "Now, don't you go lying – "

"I ain't lying!" Seth looked at him, tears in his eyes. "Honest, Adam, I don't! I just..."

Adam glanced at Bill and then sank to his knees so he was on more of a level with the boy. "What do you know, Seth? What can you tell me that will help my brother?" He glanced at Hoss and then back. A second later he asked through a forced smile. "What'd Joe talk you into?"

Seth saw a loophole and he plunged headfirst into it. "I didn't want him to go. I tried to talk him out of it, really I did! But he said he _had_ to go and he knew you wouldn't listen to him and Hoss wouldn't listen to him and the sheriff wouldn't listen to him, so he was just gonna go no matter what."

Adam swallowed hard. _Sheriff?_

"Whoa, whoa, Seth," Hoss said in his gentle way, like he was working with a frightened filly. "Where'd little brother think he had to go in such a _gol-darn_ hurry? And why...why would he need a sheriff?"

"He went after your father," Bill said, his voice flat.

Adam rose to his feet. "After Pa?" Again he looked at Hoss who was as confused as him. "Whatever for?"

"Joe said...he said..." Seth drew in great gulp of air. "He said his pa was gonna be hurt and he had to save him and neither of you would believe him when he told you that your pa was in danger and so he had to go by himself."

Adam breathed for him. "Pa? Hurt?"

"Why'd Joe think something was gonna happen to Pa?"

"He..."

Of a sudden, Adam seized on it. "The nightmares, Hoss." His hazel stare went to his brother. "We thought Joe was scared, calling out to Pa to help _him_." He felt like an idiot. "But he wasn't, was he, Seth?"

The boy shook his head. "Joe said he saw his pa lying at the bottom of a ditch with a bullet in him. His pa kept reaching for him, calling him, but he couldn't reach back far enough to take his hand. Joe... Well, Joe..." Seth's eyes went to his own father, so strict, so stern...

So loved.

"Yes, Seth?"

The boy straightened his shoulders. "Joe said your pa told him that God speaks to people in dreams. That sometimes, that's the only way they'll listen. And that his dream was telling him that he had to go find his pa and make sure he was safe."

Both of them were silent. It was Hoss that said it first. "We never thought to ask him what that there nightmare last night was about."

Adam shook his head. "It doesn't matter. He wouldn't have told us anyway. He didn't...trust us to believe him."

Bill was looking from one of them to the other. "Boys, don't be too hard on yourselves. I don't think any of us would have done any differently." The older man sighed. "As best I can determine your brother has been on the road for about six hours. He has a horse. Seth said its one of yours." Bill's eyes sought forgiveness as they fastened on his face. "Joe left just after noon. Seth told us your pa had come and picked him up. It wasn't until the storm came on that I knew something was wrong."

"Do you think Joe'll drown, Mister Adam?" Seth asked, breathlessly.

Joe drowning was the _least_ of his worries. Though being wet through and out all night was not something he would have wished for his brother, there were so many other dangers on the road. Joe's horse could take a misstep in the dark and throw him. There might be a rattlesnake on the road, or a mountain lion tracking him through the rocks. And there was another threat, more probable and _far_ more deadly than any animal.

Men.

He felt sick to his stomach.

"Adam?"

It was Hoss. "Yes?"

"What about them outlaws that robbed the bank? " his brother asked, his voice shaking. "The ones Roy warned us about? You don't think..."

Oh, God. No, he didn't think. Dear God! He didn't _think._ Why had he spent so much time yelling at Joe and so little time _talking_ to him since he'd come home?

A silence filled the room, pregnant with horrific possibilities.

Bill broke it first. "Is there anything I can do, Adam?"

He went to the door, opened it again, and looked out. The rain was torrential. It was striking the ground so hard now it sent missiles of mud into the air. For a moment he stood there, looking at it, imagining his baby brother's small bedraggled form huddled somewhere along the road, caught in the midst of the tempest, calling out for his 'pa'.

His pa who didn't even know he was missing. Who thought Joe was well watched over and was in his bed, sleeping tight, gaining strength for the new day to come.

Turning back, he replied, "You may as well stay, Bill. There's no traveling in this. We'll leave as soon as it breaks to look for Joe. Maybe you... If you would, you could ride to town in the morning and let Roy know what's happening. Help him put together a search party." His eyes went to Joe's friend who looked all out. "You can leave Seth here if you want. Hop Sing can look out for him."

"Should we have Bill send a telegram to Pa?" Hoss asked.

Adam shook his head. "Pa's due in late tomorrow. He's on the road." He straightened up. "No, it's up to you and me. We lost Joe and we've got to find him."

Hoss came to his side and then pressed through, taking a step out the door. The wind was howling. It drove his brother's thin red-blond hair back from his beefy face. When he turned back, the look on that face nearly broke Adam's heart.

He felt it too.

Something was threatening, and it wasn't just the storm.

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He kept watching for the ark, but it just didn't show.

Joe Cartwright sniffed as he curled himself up more tightly and pressed into a crevice cut into the rock behind him. About an hour back the clouds had been pulled over the moon like a curtain on a privy and everything had gone black. He'd kept riding for a while – even keeping on as rain started to fall – but a half hour before the sky had opened up and a hard rain come pouring out and it sure looked like it was gonna stay that way for a full forty days and nights.

Joe sniffed and sneezed and shifted back again though it weren't no use. He was already soaked to the skin and covered with mud from nose to toes. His brown curls were dangling in front of his eyes and dripping like icicles on a warm day.

He must look like a drown-ded rat.

' _Drowned, Joseph'_ , Pa's patient voice sighed in his head _. 'What am I going to do with you?'_

Usually when he came in soaking wet Pa and his older brothers would all rush over to him and make a big fuss, like he had an arrow in his shoulder sticking out or some such thing. Pa'd take his chin in his hand and force him to look up into his sharp brown eyes and ask, _'Joseph, are you all right?'_ Hoss would be hovering behind, like he was waiting for him to keel over so's he could catch him, calling him something like _'punkin'_ , and making him feel like he was two years old. Joe snorted out some rain. And all the while Big brother Adam would be standing there with his arms folded across his chest, frowning and saying _without_ saying it, ' _Stupid, kid._ '

He bristled a bit at that, which was a good thing.

It made him hot for about two seconds.

He hadn't brought a coat, of course. He didn't think he would need it. And while there was a blanket rolled up and cinched on the back of his borrowed horse's saddle, it was wetter than he was. He'd grabbed his satchel before heading for the rocks and so his matches and tinder were dry. Joe glanced at the leather pouch laying on the ground beside him. Well, at least as dry as they could be. But there wasn't gonna be a _stick_ of dry wood left to light so the whole thing was useless.

About as useless as he was.

Here he'd come out to save his pa from something terrible happening to him and he was stuck like a dog down a hole waiting to be drown-ded...drowned.

Joe sniffed again and looked up. There was a little bit of sky showing to the west. Maybe the storm was gonna be over soon. The rain was still pounding the earth so hard he couldn't hear nothing else, but the wind had died down – just a bit – and the sky was lightening. Gathering what energy he had left, Joe pushed himself to his feet. He continued to hug the rocks as he considered his options. He'd been on the road between six and seven hours, one of which had been spent here waiting out the rain. With any luck his brothers _still_ hadn't learned about him leaving. If they had, and they started out on horseback at a fast pace, they could catch up to him in a couple of hours. The mud, of course, would slow them down so he thought he might have three at least. Joe eyed the road. If he kept to it he could make better time, but he'd be easier to track and find. Maybe he should ride just within the trees that lined it. 'Surefoot', as he'd christened the horse he borrowed, was about as steady a ride as he'd had, though since he was young he was kinda skittish. He could probably navigate the uneven ground. The problem would come if there was just no safe place for the horse's feet.

Of course, then, he could always return to the road.

Joe looked again at the sky and decided the rain was gonna come to an end at last. It was still coming down hard, but not so hard he couldn't ride. He'd stick to the road for a little longer and then make his way into the brush when it stopped.

Weren't no use in taking too many chances when what he'd come out here to do was so important.

After unloosing him, Joe climbed up onto his horse's back. As he settled in, he spoke softly to the animal, thanking him for carrying him and apologizing for the fact that he was gonna make him travel in the rain.

Then, with his jaw set and a steely determination in his green eyes, young Joe Cartwright spurred his horse forward through the rain and toward his pa.

"I'm coming, Pa," he promised. "Hold on."


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

Dawn was breaking across the sky when Adam Cartwright returned from the kitchen to find the great room empty. With a slice of cold roast beef dangling from his lips and a muslin sack in hand, he halted, confused. Then he heard it. The rhythmic sound of feet pacing outside the front door accompanied every twenty seconds or so by a 'danged little nuisance', 'ornery little cuss', or some other such expression. Walking to the door, the black-haired man opened it. The rain was still coming down, though lighter. Some of it blew in with his brother's worry.

Removing the beef before speaking, he asked his pacing brother, "You trying to wear a deeper rut than Pa's?"

Hoss halted and turned toward him. "I cain't help it, Adam. Something's wrong."

"Let's see, that would be something _more_ than the fact that our obstinate little brother is riding to Placerville on his own?"

Hoss drew a breath, jammed his hands in his back pockets, and then nodded. "Yep."

Adam's hazel eyes flicked in the direction Joe had gone and then back to his mountain of a brother. "Like what?"

Hoss dipped his head in that way he had, when he wanted to say something but knew it was going to be challenged or just plain made fun of. "I been thinkin', Adam. I mean...you read your Bible, right?"

His smile was tight. "About as much as you do, I imagine."

Hoss's pale eyebrows shot up and he shrugged. "'S'pose so. Well, I checked out what it was Seth said Joe told him, you know, about dreams?"

Here it came. "And?"

"There's a powerful lot of them in the Good Book and they ain't _just_ dreams." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Some of 'em is visions."

"I am aware it says that."

"So you s'pose Joe's dream coulda been, you know, one of those?"

"Let's see," he paused, fighting to keep the irony from his tone, " _which_ dream would that be, the one about Hop Sing being a dragon or Miss Jones eating little boys?"

Hoss scowled. "You _know'd_ which one I mean."

Adam took a mental step back. There was anger in his brother's tone as well as irritation. "Sorry, Hoss. Of course, I do. I was making a point. You can no more trust Joe's 'vision' about Pa than you can trust those other ones. They're just dreams."

"They ain't _just_ dreams in the Bible!" he snapped. "Lookit the one what got Mary and Joseph and little Jesus out of Bethlehem before Herod done killed all them innocent babies!"

He nodded. "I'll admit that there may be times when God moves through unusual means to communicate his desires to mere mortals in order to cause or prevent extraordinary events, but this is hardly – "

"You mean Pa maybe being hurt or worse ain't an _extraordinary_ event in your book, big brother?" Hoss took his hands out of his pockets and a step toward him. "Or is it you think a 'mere mortal' like Little Joe ain't worthy of God's talkin' to him?"

"I didn't mean that."

His brothers crystal-clear blue eyes pinned him. "Then what _did_ you mean? Or was that just some fancy talk for callin' me 'stupid'?"

"Hoss, no..."

"You know, ever since you come back, big brother, you been throwin; your weight and that _high-falutin'_ education of yours around here." He moved forward another step and poked a finger into his chest. "You ain't back East no more, Adam, you're in the _West_. It ain't book l'arnin' that keeps a man alive on the trail, its experience and instinct. And _my_ instinct is tellin' me that our little brother is ridin' right into trouble that may have already found our Pa!"

His middle brother's chest worked like a bellows and those blue eyes flashed fire. Adam stared at him, thinking of the thirteen year old he had left behind when he went to school. Hoss'd had been a boy then, but he was a _man_ now. And while his education in the East had not erased the one he had obtained over the more than a decade he had spent building the Ponderosa at his father's side, he had to admit it just _might_ have taken away some of his spiritual edge. He'd been schooled in concrete facts, taught to take nothing at face value, to challenge everything and to pour scorn upon anything that was even _remotely_ connected to superstition, intuition, or simple faith.

In other words, to treat his brothers and maybe even his father as yokels and fools.

He felt shamed.

Adam pursed his lips and one eyebrow reached for the black hair laying across his forehead.  
"Would it help if I let you hit me?"

 _That_ took the wind out of Hoss' righteously angry sails.

His brother snorted. "No. Though it might make me feel a sight better."

A slow smile spread across his lips. "I know what would make you feel _even_ better."

Hoss looked skeptical. "Oh, yeah, college-educated-brother, and what might that be?"

Adam held up the sack he had carried out of the kitchen. In it was enough food for the two of them for two days – well, for _him_ for two days, for Hoss it might only be one.

"I'm all packed and ready. What are you waiting for? Let's go find Joe."  
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Ben Cartwright finished strapping his sodden bedroll onto the back of Buck's saddle and then turned and stretched, arms and mouth opening wide. It had been a hideous night. The rain had fallen so hard it had caused a waterfall that had threatened at one point to carry his camp away. He'd barely managed to hang onto his tin pot and bowl. Even though the storm was nearly spent, the damage it had done would be felt for the whole day. He was wet through and felt a bit of a chill. Of course, with the rising of the sun everything would dry out, staving off most ill effects. He'd weathered a good many storms in his day and been drenched dozens of times. He was just glad none of the boys had been with him. Oh, they'd belly ache if he worried about them getting wet, telling him he was treating them like some citified girl. But he knew better. He knew that the damp cold could weaken a man's system, allowing other things to take hold. Things that could make him sick or even _kill_ him if the circumstances were just right.

Or just wrong.

Ben looked out toward the horizon and saw three lovely ladies looking back at him, shaking their heads in unison, all gently chiding him. 'You worry too much about the boys,' his late wives said in unison. 'God will watch out for them.' He heard their gentle wisdom, _believed_ it, but found it hard to accept.

Elizabeth. Inger. Marie.

God's watching out for _them_ had not kept Him from calling them home.

As the vision faded, Ben returned to what was left of his camp. He'd collected almost everything and was ready – no, eager – to head home. He could just imagine what was happening at the Ponderosa. Hop Sing was already up and working away in the kitchen. The aromas of coffee, bacon and eggs, and freshly cooked bread filled the air. Hoss would be halfway down the stairs, ready for it and eager to begin the new day. Adam would follow more slowly – Adam, who was home again – with his nose in a book, no doubt. And Joseph? Joseph would still be asleep; his curly brown head peeking above the covers and his small body curled in a ball beneath them, totally and utterly content.

They were a blessing, all of them, and he couldn't _wait_ to get home.

As he picked up the last saddlebag and turned back to Buck, Ben paused and then looked to the right. He'd heard something. A twig snapping? Or maybe an animal moving through the nearby brush? He listened but the sound was not repeated. The older man scowled. There was no reason to believe anything was out of the ordinary. There were sounds like that in the forest every day. It was likely he felt unnerved because of the large sum of money he was carrying. But then, no one could know that he had it with him – no one that was but his boys and the people at the Placerville Bank.

Climbing into the saddle, he turned Buck's nose in the direction the noise had come from and listened again.

Again, he heard nothing.

Cursing himself for a fool, Ben put knees to horse flesh and urged the animal forward.

"Come on, boy. Let's go home."

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Within the tree-line farther down the road, masked by a covering of thick leaves, Drury A. Slater crouched. Slater was a slight-built and wiry man about five feet nine inches tall. There was nothing special about him. He had brown hair and brown eyes and a narrow little face that looked like a Fisher squinting. He mostly wore suits in order to command respect, though at the moment he was dressed in jeans and a heavy plaid shirt – oh, and boots with heels. He worked as a bank teller in Placerville most days and chatted and smiled and pretended that he cared about people, It was a lie. He didn't care about anybody but himself, since 'himself' was all he had left. He'd been robbed many years ago by the powerful and influential men in Nevada and so now, he was robbing them now and taking what was owed.

He might be a bank teller but his _main_ occupation was making himself wealthy by reaping the rewards of making prosperous men poor.

He'd planned the robbery of a number of banks, Mesa Vista being the last one, and stolen money from a nice big batch of rich folk. That was what he was about now, looking to take from rich Benjamin Cartwright and give to himself. It had been _so_ easy to set up. A little rumor in Virginia City and there'd been a run on the bank big enough to shut it down. That sent Cartwright to the one where he worked in Placerville. He'd known it was a go when the manager had shown him the telegram, saying with pride that the oh-high-and-mighty- _oh_ -so-prosperous Benjamin Cartwright was coming to town. Drury sneered. He'd smiled and fawned over the man as his boss took the cash out of the vault and then, after giving the rancher a few hours head start had gone home, changed, and set out to meet with Troy and Jud.

They were all laying in wait for him.

Cartwright thought he had everything – a vast spread of land, money to burn...

Sons.

The wiry man smirked.

All of that was going to do the haughty rancher very little good when he was on the underside of six feet of dirt.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dawn had come and gone and the sun was rising toward noon, but the clouds were thick and still thinking of rain. There was a strong wind blowing too and it was cutting. Joe Cartwright halted his mount and looked up. It was two or three hours to noon and if Pa was heading back the way he said he would – and he hadn't been delayed a whole lot by the storm – it was possible they could meet up about the time the sun slipped over the tip of the mountains and began heading for the valley. He hoped to _Hell_ , er, Heaven he was wrong. He wished with everything that was in him that he would run into Pa soon and Pa would be just fine. Joe snorted. He was even looking forward to the dressing down he was going to get.

' _Joseph Francis Cartwright, what are you doing out here alone? What were you thinking, boy? You're only ten! Do you know the worry you've caused your older brothers and the white hairs you've added to this old head?'_

Joe snickered even though he knew he shouldn't. Pa's words were right. Adam and Hoss were probably plumb out of their heads with worry for him, and worry about what Pa would say to them when he got home. A grim look sobered young Joe Cartwright's face. Still, none of that mattered _ **.**_ _Nothing_ mattered but getting that image of Pa laying there shot out of his head, and the only way he was going to do that was to see Pa standing before him, whole and healthy, with steam blowing out of his ears and smoke rising from his head.

The image lightened his mood. Joe laughed and pulled on Surefoot's reins. He'd decided to wait until light to leave the road. It was time to do so now. If his brothers were coming, they might catch up real soon and find him and he just couldn't let them do that. He wouldn't let them rope him like a wayward steer and take him home to the corral.

He _wouldn't!_

As he sat there, thinking about it, a shiver ran the length of his thin frame and Joe sneezed. He was mostly dried out now – well, maybe not his under-drawers – but he still felt chilled. He'd hoped the rising sun would stave it off, but so far it hadn't done a thing to warm him. He was cold to the bone. After striking a filthy bunch of brown curls off of his forehead and out of his eyes, Joe ran the back of his sleeve under his nose, wiping it clean. Hop Sing was gonna kill him when he saw the state of his clothes. He was mud from one end to the other.

Joe's face wrinkled with an affectionate smile. While Hop Sing yelled about getting all the mud off him, he'd pretend he didn't want the warm bath that was waiting – it was kind of a requirement after all – but in reality the thought of sinking under that warm clean water nearly made him melt all the way down to his cold toes.

Urging Surefoot into the trees, Joe watched carefully as the horse began to pick his way through the bracken and mud. True to his name, the colt didn't seem to have any trouble navigating it. He wasn't a big horse and so he was able to move through the trees without even brushing his withers. Joe leaned forward and patted him on the neck.

"Good, boy, Surefoot. You just keep at it. You and I, we gotta find Pa."

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Ben Cartwright pulled his coat closer about his throat and looked at the sky. It was mid-afternoon. The wind was blowing hard – a sure sign the storm might be doubling-back. He'd dismounted and stood now looking at the road ahead. A tree had fallen across it and blocked his path, uprooted no doubt by the storm the night before. He sighed as he gazed to the left and right. On one side there was nothing but thick underbrush and tall trees. Passable, but moving through it would slow him down. On the other side, the fallen tree's impact had torn away a part of the earth creating a chute or channel through which a rush of rainwater ran down the sloping hill, eager to join with the swollen creek that lay some twenty feet below. He scowled as he considered his options. It was doubtful he could move the tree trunk. Not even his middle boy with his giant's strength could have budged it from what he saw. Adam with his engineering skills might have found a way to shift it, but thinking such a thing was pointless as Adam wasn't with him. Ben glanced at the hillside leading down to the creek, but knew instantly there was no hope there. The only choice was to make a detour into the trees and travel along the road's edge until he and his horse could safely return to it.

Ben returned to Buck. He placed his foot in the stirrup with the intention of mounting, but halted as something niggled at his mind – something he had _seen_ but not paid attention to. Ben frowned as he took his boot out of the stirrup. Walking back to the tree trunk, he aimed for the end where the roots lay exposed. The older man removed his gloves and leaned over the rough trunk and took hold of one of them. There were sharp angular cuts on its muddy surface. It looked... Well, it looked like the type of cut a shovel would make, which would mean the tree had been uprooted

On purpose...

"Good afternoon, Mister Cartwright!" a cheery voice proclaimed.

Ben straightened up and looked. He didn't see anyone. "Who's there?" he called as he stepped away from the fallen tree. "Come out where I can see you!"

"All in good time, Mister Cartwright. All in good time. But first, toss that gun you're wearing toward your horse and put your hands in the air. As a warning, my men have you covered."

He could hear them moving through the underbrush, taking up positions to either side of him.

"If it's money you want, you can have it!" he called out as he began to unbuckle his weapon belt.

"Well, now, isn't that generous of you." The voice had shifted position. It was closer now, just to the far side of the tree. "I'm afraid what you have in those saddle bags just isn't going to be enough."

"There's ten thousand in there," he said, tossing the gun aside. "What more do you want?"

Ben heard leaves rustling to his right. A second later a figure stepped out and into the light. It was a man – a familiar narrow-faced man dressed now in a plaid shirt and jeans. He recognized him instantly as the fawning bank teller from Placerville.

Slater. Drury Slater, that was his name.

Slater was not alone. Locked in his arms he held a squirming form close to his chest. Small. Light. _Young._ The boy held his head up high to show he was not afraid and looked directly at him.

His head.

His curly... _brown_...head...

Ben's heart sank.

Joe.

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Drury Slater twisted his fingers in the boy's ringletted hair and pulled for all he was worth, eliciting a satisfying yelp even as he pressed the edge of the knife he held into the tender flesh beneath Joe Cartwright's jaw. He was a hellcat, this one. He'd fought Troy and Jud when they came upon him riding through the trees too near their makeshift camp. If the boy'd been smarter, the worst the pair might have done was to toss him down the side of the hill and let God decide if he drowned, but he'd started yelling and cussing and promising they'd have _Hell_ to pay if his pa found out what they'd done.

His pa.

Benjamin Cartwright.

The wiry man snorted. Stupid kid. With that name he went from being a little lost boy in the wrong place at the wrong time to a weapon to be used against his _sure-to-save-him_ 'pa'.

"I'll tell you what I want, Mister Cartwright," Drury called. " _Everything_. Everything you've got in that safe of your back at the Ponderosa. You'll give it to me with no strings attached unless you want to see your kid's throat opened up and the lifeblood draining out of him."

With his words the boy grew still. Drury looked down and into a pair of wide green eyes that questioned the reality of the situation he found himself in, as if the Cartwright kid couldn't really believe there was a man who would slit his throat just for gain. Then he watched the boy's gaze flick to his father, searching, looking for a sign of hope.

For a heartbeat, an old pain washed over Slater as a similar face swam before his eyes. Charlie'd been about this kid's age when he rode up to the house and found the boy waiting for him on the porch looking just the same. A stray shot from the posse pursuing him had taken his boy down like he wasn't any more important than a rabbit used for practice. For years that little wide-eyed face had been the only thing he'd seen when he closed his eyes.

Drury's grip tightened on the boy he held.

It was men like Ben Cartwright who had come along with the sheriff looking for him – fine, _upstanding_ men – men with money and with power. What was a thousand dollars to them? _Nothing._ To him it was collateral against all the wrongs that had been done him. He'd been sent to prison for four years during which time he lost his home. His wife had pined away to nothing after Charlie died and passed in a sanitarium among other mad women.

Those high and mighty men had killed _both_ Willa and Charlie. He'd vowed he'd make them pay by taking everything they had. He'd joined up with Jud and Troy a year or so back and together they'd robbed or swindled half a dozen banks and businessmen. Ben Cartwright was next. Drury scowled and pressed the edge of the knife in just a little closer to the boy's throat. God had surely seen fit to deliver this child of privilege into his hands so the wrongs he had suffered at the hands of men like his father would be righted. He'd already decided to rob the rancher, take the money he was carrying and leave him for dead. But now – due to this kid's blunder – he could take so much more away from him.

 _So_ much more.

Drury smirked. He was going to kill Mister high-and-mighty Ben Cartwright but first he'd kill his kid, and he'd do it whether the rich man turned over his fortune or not.

Just to make things _right_ , you know?

"Whatever it is, you can have it," the king of the Ponderosa called out. "Just let Joseph go."

"Joseph?" Salter pulled the boy's head up with a jerk and met his wild stare. "You gotta thought in that pretty curly head of yours, _Joseph?"_ Slater leaned in and breathed the words, his tone sinister in its intent.

"You have a thought about _how_ you want to die?"

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Ben glanced at the sky. The storm had indeed returned and between the thunder and the wind it was difficult to catch Slater's words. Still, he knew their intent. This man wanted something from him. He hoped it was just money. But there was something in the way Slater held himself – in the way he held Joe with a knife poised to slice the boy's throat – that indicated there was more. The older man shuddered. The sight of his son in the villain's clutches had unmanned him for a moment, making movement impossible. He had to shake that fear off.

He had to be able to act on a split second's notice.

Joseph was doing his best to appear brave, but every line in the boy's slight form was written in terror. Joe's eyes darted between the face of the man who held him and the man's hand that held a shining blade to his throat. His son was smart for his age. Joe _knew_ how close he was to dying.

And that was a thing no ten year old should _ever_ know.

"Let me boy go!" Ben cried out. "I'll do whatever you want!"

"Pa, no!' came a strangled cry.

Joe's cry was followed by a hiss and the words, "You'll keep your mouth shut, kid, if you know what's good for you!"

Ben reached out. "Hush, boy! Keep quiet, Joseph! Keep quiet, son!"

Not only might his son's words antagonize the corrupt bank teller, but when Joe spoke the knife bit a little deeper into his throat. Ben could see a thin line of blood droplets forming and dripping down.

"Listen to your Pa, _Joseph_ ," Drury Slater scoffed. "You might _just_ live to see tomorrow."

Ben took a step forward. "I have another ten thousand in cash at the Ponderosa. I'm not sure I can get you anymore without the banks becoming suspicious. What I have in the safe is there to pay the hands for the round-up. You can take it and go. I'll make sure no one follows."

The outlaw remained silent, considering his words. Then he said the one thing Ben had been praying he would not.

"You go, Cartwright. You go get that money and bring it back here." There was a snort. "The kid and the rest of us will be waiting for you." He paused and the knife cut deeper. "Just don't take too long."

"I won't leave my son!"

The other man laughed. "Well, the only way you're taking him now is as a _corpse_. The choice is yours, big man!"

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Joe Cartwright listened with alarm and dismay to the conversation taking place between his pa and the bad man who held him. He felt just about as stupid and useless as a man trying to shoe a horse who was waltzing around the stable instead of standing still. He'd come out here to rescue his pa and there Pa was, looking fine, not hurt at all, but hurting all the same because _he_ hadn't been quick or smart enough to keep from getting caught. Oh, he ran – he ran _real_ hard. Slipped right off Surefoot's back the moment he saw the three men coming for him with nothing but his satchel over his shoulder, and ran like the Devil's ghost riders were on his tail. He would have made it too, if not for the mud. He hit a patch of it that was nigh onto knee-deep and it took him down, pulling his legs out from under him and splaying him on the ground like a calf waiting on a brand. He'd been bleating too, just like one of those calves. Bleating and crying until the tears ran down his face to mingle with the blood traveling down his neck and onto the collar of his shirt staining it.

Hop Sing's face suddenly appeared him. The Chinese man's eyes were round black marbles and his mouth was open wide. He was shouting out in Chinese, waving him arms over his head and scolding him for cutting through the knees of his trousers and for ruining his shirt. Joe couldn't help it. He began to shake and felt a laugh bubbling up inside. It started as a giggle and grew, but by the time it came out it had turned into a terrified and longing cry.

" _Pa_..."

"Hang on, boy!" he heard his pa call back. "Hang on, son!"

Joe scowled. That was _all_ he seemed to be doing. Hanging on to the arm of the man who held him tight, trying to keep that blade away from his skin. He could see the knife whenever he dropped his eyes, shiny as a snake's skin, its silver sides glinting as the sun's rays caught it. He had a knife back home. He knew what it could do. He'd seen his brother Hoss use a knife to slice through a hog's carcass like butter, opening up its throat, spilling its lifeblood out to water the ground.

Joe's eyes flicked to his father. That's what Pa was afraid of too. He was afraid the man who held him was gonna slit his throat 'cause he meant nothing more to him than the belly cut of a hog.

The ten year old glanced from side to side. The men who'd caught him were there, standing one on each side of Drury Salter. Salter had been plumb mad when one of his men used his name and he'd heard it. It was the main reason he was pretty sure that, no matter what his pa said or did, he was dead. So it was up to him.

He had to get away.

Joe considered his options. Drury Salter was directly behind him and his Pa, in front. Behind pa was a flat bit of land that looked like it might border a hill. It wasn't much, but if they could hit it right and slide down the side then maybe – just _maybe_ – when they reached the bottom they could get away.

Of course, _he_ had to get free first.

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Salter had moved forward. Joe was so close now he could have reached out and touched him. The boy appeared unharmed other than the thin cut on his throat and a generous heaping of cuts and bruises. Joe's expressive green eyes were locked on his and in them he read a dangerous determination. Ben shook his head almost imperceptibly.

 _No, Joe. Don't try anything. Nothing is worth your life._

The corrupt teller was speaking again. He really hadn't been paying attention to what he said. His mind was filled with thoughts and images from the last few days – bidding farewell to Adam and Hoss. Getting that second hug from Joe that told him the boy was fearful as always about his leaving. Meeting with the bank manager in Placerville and wondering why he had hired such a shifty-looking man as Slater. He'd been the weasel of a man who had come for him and led him back to the vault and then watched almost salivating as the money was taken from the shelves and placed in two satchels.

He should have known...

"Let the boy come to me so I can see he's all right," Ben demanded.

Salter's fingers twisted more deeply into Joe's hair – that wonderful _full_ head of brown hair – as if he would pull it out by the roots.

"Why should I?"

"What do you think I'm going to do?" he shouted. "Your men have guns on me and there's nowhere to go. Please. Please...take that knife away from my son's throat and let him come to me. If you have _any_ humanity in you..." He choked. "He's only a boy."

There was something in Salter's eyes, something when he looked at Joe that just wasn't quite right. It was as if the boy represented something else; lost opportunities, perhaps, or maybe, lost hopes.

"Do you have a son, Salter?" he called out, hoping he was not sealing Joe's death warrant by asking. "A boy, like Joe?"

"I _had_ one!" the man growled between gritted teeth as the knife blade bit deeper into Joe's neck "I don't have one anymore. You did it, Cartwright. _You_ and men like you!"

The trickle of blood was increasing. Even so, he could see Salter losing his focus as his broken mind slid into the past. Ben eyed the gunmen to either side of the teller. They were staring at their boss and not at him.

"I'm sorry. Salter, I have a boy. That's him you're holding. Look at him, Salter! I understand what it's like, a father and a son – "

"You don't understand _anything!_ " the other man snarled. "How could you, _your_ son is alive?"

Ben stretched out his arms. He spoke quietly. "If you keep him that way, I'll help you. I promise." He met Joe's frightened stare and added with all the power and might he owned. "But if you harm that boy, I swear no matter _what,_ I will hunt you down like the rabid animal you are and put an end to you!"

"Salter," one of the other men said from the shadows, "what are we gonna do?"

As Joe's captor turned, Ben eyes gauged the distance between the man and him and between Salter's knife and Joe's throat. The bank teller was mad and his son was going to be dead if he didn't make a bold move and make it soon. Locking eyes with his boy, Ben tried to communicate to Joseph that he needed him to stand completely still.

Unfortunately Joe got an entirely _different_ word.

With Salter distracted Joe reached up with both hands inside the circle of the man's arm and shoved the knife away. Ben gasped as he saw it cut into the tender flesh of his young son's forearm before it fell. Then his agile boy twisted in the villain's grasp, dropped to the ground, and then reared up and rammed the man where it _most_ counted with his head.

Salter shrieked and fell back.

Joe turned and looked at him.

Ben held his arms out, calling the boy forward.

Gunfire sounded. One. _Two_ shots. Ben felt something hit him. Was it Joseph or a bullet or both?

He met his son's wild stare and saw fear and pain in the boy's eyes.

And then they fell.


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

Adam impatiently paced the narrow area along the side of the road to Placerville, doing his best to keep his temper. While he realized he was young, he _was_ an adult and the patronizing attitude of Roy Coffee's current deputy was almost enough to make him take a chance on whether or not his father's money could get him off on a murder charge.

 _Almost._

Hoss was looking at him. Waiting on him to give him a sign. Something.

They were wasting time.

"Look, Deputy Blunt," he began, "I know you have your opinions, but this is our baby brother and we need to –"

Horace Blunt looked like a stork. He was skinny as a stick and had a long neck and an Adam's apple that bobbed on it like a red one afloat in a wooden bucket. His pale blue eyes were somewhat beady and the look out of them said he'd as soon pick you up and mop the forest floor with you as look at you. Adam had heard he'd been a soldier and he believed it.

He was also inordinately rude.

"Ain't no _lah-de-dah_ snot-nosed kid with a higher education gonna tell me how to do my job, you hear? It's my policy. I don't let no kin go lookin' with me for someone who's missin'. They cain't think straight." He pinned them both with an unwelcoming stare. "Now why don't you two boys just go hightail it back to that cushy Ponderosa of your'n and let me do my job?"

They'd run into Blunt about an hour into their ride. Seth's father had done as he requested and gone into town to tell the sheriff what had happened. The problem was, Roy had ridden out the night before to take a deposition from a woman who lived to the north side of the town, leaving Horace in charge. The deputy, who resembled most in his mind Ichabod Crane in both looks and ignorance, had left Roy a note telling him what was happening and then taken charge of the hunt for Joe. What Blunt did not seem to understand was that this was a ten year old kid they were hunting and that Joe was going to be scared out of his mind and that he'd probably _run_ from a group of strangers rather than let them take him.

Joe would be _expecting_ his brothers.

"Now, you listen here, you ignoramus!" Hoss shouted. "You'll get out of our way and let us through if you know what's good for you!"

 _Oh joy_ , Adam thought as he ran a hand over his eyes. Joe was missing and now Hoss was going to end up in jail. He'd certainly be able to prove to his father after this that it was a wise thing to leave him in charge.

"Hoss," he cautioned.

His middle brother was steaming. "I ain't gonna back down, Adam, that there idiot – "

"Is a _legally deputized_ idiot," he murmured, hoping the deputy didn't hear him.

Blunt watched them from a short distance away with dispassion. His upper lip twitched and one eye narrowed. That was the largest range of emotion the man had shown yet. Horace spat out tobacco juice and then calmly walked to their side.

"Since we been arguin', boys, we've lost 'bout fifteen minutes," he said, his voice low and even. "That's _fifteen_ minutes in which your little brother could have fallen off a cliff or been bitten by a snake or, maybe, had his arm chewed off by a grizzly. Now, I'm good with standin' here for another fifteen or more, that's up to you. You just think _hard_ about what you're doin'."

Adam reached out and held his brother back by placing a hand on his chest. "Hoss, I think we should do what the good deputy says."

He felt the teenager stiffen beneath that hand. "Adam, you cain't – "

Blunt's tone was a wagging finger. "Listen to him, boy. Older brother knows best."

"These are experienced lawmen, Hoss," he said, clipping each word, hoping his brother caught on to what he was doing, "the best thing we can do is _get out of their way_."

His brother frowned. Then Hoss's reddish brows went up. A second later he drew a deep breath and let the tension out with it. "Well, I reckon you're right, Adam." His gaze went to the deputy. "I'm right sorry, Deputy Blunt. I guess I kinda lost my temper. I'm just _pure_ worried about little brother."

"Understandable." Horace Blunt's gaze traveled between them. "I want your word. Both of you."

Adam nodded. "You have it. We won't do anything to interfere with your search."

"That's right," Hoss echoed, nodding. "You're the law."

"Yes, I am," Blunt said slowly. The gaze didn't waver. It was as if he was trying to judge whether or not he could trust them. Finally he said, "The best thing you boys can do is go back home. You never know, your little brother could be there right now, back from a grand adventure and curled up tight in his bed."

 _God,_ he hoped so.

Still, he wasn't about to leave anything to chance. They'd ditch the lawman and then circle back and strike out on their own to find –

Blunt had turned back. "You know what," he said. "I think I'll just have one of my men escort you two back to that ranch house since there are desperados in these hills." The deputy's eyes sparked with barely masked amusement. "We wouldn't want Ben Cartwright to go losin' track of _all_ of his boys, now would we?"

Adam swallowed over the lump in his throat.

"No, I don't suppose we would."

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It was a lazy summer day. Adam had gone to town for supplies, taking Hoss with him, and leaving him alone with Marie and their young son. It was near noon and Ben had been working for some time, attempting to make his way through a mountain of paperwork, when he felt something move at his feet. Startled, he stopped and scooted his chair back and looked under the desk and was confronted by a cherubic face with wide green eyes that was framed by the most massive amount of golden-brown curls he had ever seen a child possess.

"Joseph," he said sternly, hiding his smile, "Papa is busy. You need to find something to do."

The small boy took hold of his pants leg and used it to stand up. "Papa come play," he pleaded. "Come outside."

"Son, I can't. I have too much work to do. These contracts can't wait. You see the men who negotiated them are waiting on me to..." He stopped. He was discussing contracts with a four year old. Strangely enough, the boy had his curly head bent and appeared to be trying to take it all in. Ben placed a hand on his son's hair and sighed. "Where's your mother, son?"

The boy blinked, and then turned and pointed. Ben followed Joseph's finger and what he saw made his breath catch. Marie had emerged from the kitchen. She was carrying a picnic basket and was dressed in the lightweight cream-colored dress he loved so much, the one showed her legs in the sun. On her head of golden hair she'd perched a straw hat dripping with an array of cloth flowers. On her picture-perfect face she wore an expression of love.

Her little mouth quirked at the end with a smile. "Did you ask _Papa, Petit Joseph?"_

Ben picked the boy up and headed for her. As he did, Joseph's head bobbed up and down. He turned back to him and caught his shirt collar in his tiny hands.

"Come play, Papa. Come outside."

When he got to Marie, he looked down at her. She was radiant. "This is entirely unfair," he said. "You know that."

" _C'est la guerre_ ," she smiled.

No one could conquer such a general.

Sometime later they pulled up to the lake in the buckboard. Ben hopped down first. Then he helped his wife and last of all, lifted Little Joe out and tossed him into the air. The boy giggled and shouted, 'More! More!' even as his mother shook her head.

" _Joseph_ is already fearless. You will make him bold, Benjamin," she tisked. " _So_ bold he will no longer listen to his _mama and papa_."

He'd laughed then, but within less than an hour had come to regret it.

They were laying side by side, sipping wine and eating the food Hop Sing had prepared. Joseph was playing nearby – not too near but within sight. Marie leaned over and kissed him, and the warmth of her lips and the soft feel of her body in his hands took his attention, for maybe a minute.

When he came up for air and looked, Joseph was gone.

Panic gripped them. They split and ran in opposite directions, calling Joe's name. As Marie's voice faded into the distance something made him look up. It might have been an angel voice or maybe a prompt from God, but he looked up and there was his four year old son halfway up the trunk of a medium-sized tree that had the most unfortunate series of evenly spaced low-lying branches. The child was stretching out as far as he could, reaching for the next branch, his little toes barely anchored on the one below; his fingers wiggling, extending toward a hold they would never find.

"Joseph!" he cried. "Joseph, stay where you are! I'm coming to get you."

His boy turned and looked at him. A smile broke over that beautiful face. 'Papa," he said.

And then, he let go.

Ben had never moved so fast in his life . He dove for the ground under the tree and landed with a 'huff' five seconds before his son reached the earth. Five _precious_ seconds in which he was able to open his arms, able to take a bracing breath, and able to save his son.

Joseph laughed as he landed hard and then, when he saw him crying, shrieked.

The wind knocked out of him, Ben laid his hand on his son's head and ran his fingers through his curly brown hair, speaking soothing words.

"It's...all right...Joseph. Everything...will be...all right. Joseph, everything – "

Ben's eyes flew open. His fingers were entwined in his son's hair.

It was matted with something thick and wet.

Somewhere above them, someone was speaking, calling his name. Was it Marie? No, the voice was a man's and the words were harsh and threatening.

 _Hate you. Find you._

 _Kill you and your son._

Ben shifted. Pain shot through him like a knife. He was on his back on a patch of land that butted up against a creek. Had he fallen – fallen out of the tree with Joe? No. That wasn't it. Joe wasn't four. He was ten. And Marie..Marie was dead...and her husband and son were lying at the bottom of a twenty foot drop with a pack of rabid dogs on a ledge above snarling for their blood.

"Joe," he tried, shifting his hold. "Joe?"

The boy didn't move.

"Joseph?"

This time a small moan escaped the boy's lips. "Pa..."

"I'm here." Ben glanced up. "Joe, we have to move. Can you move, son?"

No words. Just a shake of his head.

He fought to keep the desperation from his words. "Joseph, you have to listen to me. These are _bad_ men. They want to hurt you. We have to move, have to find a place to hide. Joe!"

His son raised his head and looked at him. Joe's eyes were unfocused. "Don't know...if I..can, Pa. Tired..."

He had no way of knowing if the boy was injured. There had been two shots. As he shifted again to get a better look at his son, his suspicion increased that one of the bullets had taken him in the side. Part of the blood in Joe's hair, he was fairly certain, was his own. The other one he thought had grazed the boy's head.

With both hands Ben gripped that head and forced his son to meet his eyes. "Joe, I need you to help me. Do you hear me, son?"

It worked. Where Joe had had little concern about himself, the thought that _he_ was in danger seemed to penetrate the daze he was in.

The boy blinked. "Pa? What's...wrong, Pa?"

'I'm hurt, boy. I don't know if I can get up on my own." He cast his eyes upward. The men could be working their way down the hill even now, coming to capture or to kill them. "I need you to help me up and we need to find somewhere to hide."

Joe seemed to come more awake. His hands started probing. "Where, Pa? Where are you hurt?"

There was a desperation in the boy's voice that he didn't understand.

"I think I took a bullet in the side. I don't think it's too bad. I..." Ben's voice trailed off. Joe had gone white as a sheet. His boy lifted his hands and looked at them. They were covered in his blood.

"No," he wailed. " _Noooo_..."

"Joe?"

"It was me, Pa! _I_ did it! It was _me!_ I..." He started to sob. "Adam and Hoss were right. I shoulda stayed home. I..."

"Joseph, what are you talking about?"

The boy's green eyes were wide as the plains.

"It wasn't a dream, Pa, it was a _nightmare_. And I made it come true!"

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It was a nightmare, all right. But not the one Joe spoke of.

As it was the middle of the day, there was nothing to mask them from the men on the top of the rise who had begun to shoot helter-skelter into the trees. Apparently Salter had changed his mind about sending him for the rest of the money and intended to kill them both. It had been all Joe could do to help him climb to his feet and, even now, he was having to lean heavily on the boy. He still didn't know the extent of Joseph's injuries. He had a suspicion looking at him, that there was more than met the eye.

They were quite a pair.

He'd taken the road to Placerville dozens of times since coming to this area and knew the layout of the land pretty well. If he remembered correctly there was a deserted cabin not all that far away – one they should be able to reach by nightfall or shortly thereafter.

They just had to shake Salter and his dogs off first.

Ben jolted as another bullet struck the ground to the rear of them. There was a thin line of trees between them and the men, so they were shooting blind. Still, blind or not, there was always that lucky shot.

Lucky for Salter, not for them.

"Pa, you're breathing hard," Joseph said, worry in his tone as his eyes went to the ever-increasing stain of blood on the middle of his shirt. "We gotta stop. You _gotta_ rest."

He gripped the boy's shoulder with his fingers. "We'll rest together once we find shelter."

Another bullet struck a tree above their heads.

"You aren't gonna make it, Cartwright! You or that boy of yours! You're both bleeding and there isn't any help for miles! Come out! ...we won't hurt you!"

Ben snorted. No, they wouldn't hurt them.

They'd _kill_ them.

Joe looked at him to see if he was going to answer. Ben shook his head and nodded to the left. There was a passage there through a tumble of rocks that then went up a hill. If he remembered right after the hill there was a mile long ravine – and then the cabin. His son was fast. He could make it. Together, he would only slow him down.

"Joseph!" He commanded as he released his grip on the boy, his tone curt and not to be disobeyed. "Run. Get between the rocks. Run now! I'll follow as quickly as I can."

The boy's green eyes were wide. He fought a moment, not wanting to obey, but then nodded and began to run. Ben felt a moment of relief as he saw his son's small form slip into the shadows cast by the tall rocks.

It was short-lived.

There was another shot. He frowned, waiting to see where it hit. Even as Joseph stiffened and spun around, he knew. God, he _knew!_ He hadn't been thinking clearly. While trying to save him, he had _stupidly_ sent his son into danger.

This time Joe had taken a bullet.

Even as one of the men shouted that he'd ' _Got one!_ ', Ben ran. When he reached Joe's side, he dropped to his knees. Tears flooded the older man's eyes as he placed a hand on the boy's small chest, feeling his rapidly racing heart. He was devout man. He believed in God and in God's eternal purpose. He knew that nothing happened unless God permitted or allowed it, and that all a man went through was to hone him and teach him to show the virtues of God's Son. He'd learned humility when he could no longer provide for himself and his first boy. He'd been taught kindness when others showed kindness to him. There was nothing but diligence to be had when a man had an empire to build. And patience? Patience was defined by three beautiful rough and tumble sons. The thing he didn't like – the thing he fought the _hardest_ against – was the gospel of suffering. Words from Philippians ran through his head as he dragged Joe into the rocky passage and passed his hands over his son, searching for the wound.

 _For to you it has been granted for Christ's sake, not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer..._

He'd suffered. _God!_ He'd suffered. Three wives dead. Three wives _buried_ along with all the hopes each one of them had represented. And now, now, God was demanding his son!

Ben's jaw tightened. No.

 _No._

"Pa..."

Ben sucked in air and looked down. Joe fingers were on his pants leg gripping it just like he'd done on that glorious and terrible morning so long ago.

"Joseph, shh. Don't try to speak."

"I'm... _scared_ , Pa..."

He wouldn't admit it. But he was scared too.

As another bullet struck a tree to the left of the rocks, Ben placed his hands under his son's shoulders and knees and lifted him, cradling him close to his heart. He felt the pull of Joe's weight on his own wound, but ignored it.

"I'm here, boy. Pa's here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Joseph nodded, and then that curly brown head fell against his chest and the boy was still.

Gripping Joe tightly, Ben plunged into the passage even as another bullet hit the dirt close by his boot.

If they could just make it to the cabin.

If they could just...

If.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Is that _infernal_ lawman still out there, Adam?"

Adam looked at his brother who was pacing a path up and down in front of the hearth. 'Infernal' was the least colorful epithet he had heard come out of Hoss' mouth in the hour they had been confined to the house. He didn't realize his middle brother knew quite so many, well, _descriptive_ words.

The black-haired man peered out the window above his father's desk that opened onto the front yard. "He's still there. Sitting pretty and smoking a cigar."

"Dad-burned, smart-alecky, _son-of-a-bitch!"_

Adam turned back his brows puckered. "Does Pa know about your...er... _colorful_ vocabulary?"

Hoss shot him a glance. His lips twitched. "Now, who you think I learned them words from, Adam?"

Their father was not prone to foul language. At least, he'd seldom heard him employ anything cruder than 'damn'. Was this something else that had changed in his time away?

His brother continued to glare at him for a moment and then threw his head back and roared. When he composed himself, Hoss pointed and said, "You shoulda seen your face!"

He let his frustration out in a sigh. "I hardly think this is the time or place..."

His seventeen year old brother shook his head as he approached. "I guess I been hanging around the hands too much." He winced. "I'm just so all-fired angry. We gotta get out there and get to lookin' for Joe!"

"Hop Sing agree with Mistah Hoss."

They both turned to find their cook and – if the truth be told – surrogate mother and father standing behind them. He was holding a pitcher and glass in his hand.

Adam waved him away. "We're not thirsty, Hop Sing."

"Not for number one or two son. For lawman outside."

Hoss scratched his head. "What you bein' nice to him for, Hop Sing? He won't let us go after Joe."

Hop Sing shook his head. "Mistah Hoss not understand. Mistah Ben say must be nice to _all_ men. All men _guests._ Hop Sing make special tea for lawman who will not let you go find Little Joe."

There was something in the Chinese man's voice that made Adam sit up and pay attention. "What's in the tea, Hop Sing."

"Oohh, no can say, Mistah Adam. Special family recipe." Their cook's eyes lit with he might have described as an 'infernal' delight. "Make lawman relax _velly_ much."

Hoss was catching on. "Just how _much_ is that there tea gonna make him relax, Hop Sing?"

"Make lawman feel good. Send him to visit with his ancestors in the world of dream. When he wake up, he be happy, _they_ be happy, and most of all," Hop Sing did a little bow over the pitcher and glass, "Hop Sing be happy see Little Joe home again."

Ten minutes later the lawman was snoozing in the barn loft and they were on their way.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben was breathing hard. He'd navigated the long channel of rock and found the ravine. It stretched before him now offering both a path to the cabin and a sanctuary from the blowing wind. It was fairly steep-sided and there were lots of nooks and crannies cut into it that promised a haven from both the rain that was beginning to fall and the guns of the men who hunted them.

The problem was, it could also prove to be a death-trap.

The ravine's sides were ridged because it was one of the kind that ran with water more often than not. There was a river not too far away as well as the creek they had just left behind. If either overflowed their banks, the ravine would take up the slack. He glanced at the sky, gauging the storm's progress. The rain was fairly gentle now, but he knew that could turn on a five cent piece. After the rain they'd had the day before, there was no telling how little it would take to be too much. Also, if Slater and his men _were_ still tracking them and determined where they were and came down _into_ it after them, then the narrow channel cut into the ground would give them no more hope of escape than a group of sitting ducks.

He had to make a choice.

From what he remembered the cabin, which had been occupied for the last few years by one of his ranch hand's families, was near the end of the ravine and over to the south a little. James Hinson had worked for him for a time but had chosen to go back East with his only surviving child after a fever had taken the lives of his wife and two sons. There was no guarantee the place was empty, but most often when it was disease that had cleared out a cabin – and so short a time ago – it stayed that way. People were afraid of any lingering sickness.

And of the ghosts that might inhabit it.

Another thing that cabin might contain would be medicine and bandages. He could build a fire and make Joseph warm. The boy was so still, so cool to the touch. Ben breathed out his relief. At least Joe wasn't fevered.

Yet.

He knew it was different for him. His skin was prickling. The fabric moving over it caused him pain as it did. He'd managed to stuff a balled up handful of clean cloth into the wound in his side and, for the moment, had almost curtailed the bleeding. He'd done the same for Joseph, tears spilling from his eyes as he first wrapped a bandage around his head and then wadded up a strip from the tail of his gun-metal blue shirt and pressed it against his son's small shoulder. He thought the bullet had gone through clean but he couldn't tell due to the amount of mud and blood. Until he could get Joseph's shirt off and examine him more closely, a patch would have to do. He prayed the bullet had missed anything important. Joe'd been hit high-up in the back.

Ben's jaw tightened.

 _Cowards!_

He'd kill them if he ever got the chance.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the older man staggered. No. No, he wouldn't. He'd rage and shout and grieve until there was nothing left, but he wouldn't let a man like Drury Slater turn him into an animal. Ben closed his eyes and sought a place of peace. Joseph was here and that meant Joseph was missing at home. Hoss and Adam would have gone for Roy. They'd surely be on the trail by now. There'd be a posse out looking for them and possibly Doc Martin too, since Roy would worry that Joseph might have been hurt.

Ben closed his eyes and sighed.

There _was_ hope.

Coming to a decision, Ben clutched his quiescent son to his chest and sat down and then, with a push and a prayer, slid down into the darkness that filled the ravine


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

Drury Slater stood, rifle in hand, at the top of the narrow ravine looking down. The wind was kicking branches and gorse up and he watched as they disappeared into the darkness filling it. He let out a soft curse as he sighted along the length of the gully, noting how it seemed to deepen as it plowed its way through the hilly land to the south. If they followed Cartwright there was no guaranteeing they'd catch him. Night was coming on and a man could blend into the shadows and disappear so long as he could keep quiet. There was a chance – probably _more_ than a chance – that that boy of his would be howling with pain or fever. Still, sound carried in a ravine, bouncing back and forth. It could fool you and he just didn't have time to be fooled.

He needed to get to Cartwright's ranch and get that other ten thousand dollars.

They'd talked about splitting up, him and Troy and Jud, and one of them following Cartwright to make sure his mouth and his boy's were shut permanently. He'd decided against it. Cartwright's older boys would be out looking for their pa and brother. Most likely the local sheriff and his men too. There would be only a few men – hands, ropers, roustabouts – left behind at the ranch and they wouldn't be looking for trouble. Not there.

It shouldn't be hard to waltz right in and take what they wanted.

About a half hour back they'd talked to a lawman heading up a search party, expressing their horror and offering their assistance in the search for the rancher's son. When Horace Blunt refused, they pointed him and his dozen men in the opposite direction the Cartwrights had taken. Drury snorted. The beauty of it was that no one knew they were suspect. They'd be able to ride up to the Ponderosa ranch house without any trouble and help themselves to that money.

Then, they'd head to Mexico and live like kings.

"What you think, Drury?" Troy Kincaid asked as he came to a stop beside him.

He didn't look at the other man but kept his eyes fastened on the ravine. "I think Cartwright's dead. You said you hit him in the side?"

Jud nodded.

"What about the boy?"

The other man hesitated. "Weren't me what hit him. That was Mosley."

Drury turned toward him. His words were hard. "Are you getting _soft?"_

Troy met his eyes. His own were angry. "When I signed up there weren't nothing said about shooting kids. Look, I got a boy of my own about that age."

"Well, I don't!" he snapped. "And it's men like Cartwright that took Charlie away from me! An eye for an eye, Troy. An eye for an eye." Drury turned back to look at the ravine and held his hand out, allowing the steady rain to strike his dirty flesh. "It doesn't look like _we'll_ have to kill them anyhow," he chuckled as he turned and began to walk away.

"Looks like God's got that under control."

"Older brother, what're you thinkin'?"

Adam sighed. It was a deep sigh, one filled with frustration, longing, and not a little dose of fear. "I'm thinking we should have run into Pa by now."

They were a few hours along the road to Placerville. If their pa had started back when he expected too, the latest he would have arrived home was tonight. That meant they should have come across him.

"Maybe his business took longer than he thought."

Adam nodded, thoughtful. "Maybe." His eyes strayed to the road before them. The failing light revealed it just enough to show that it wound to the right and disappeared into the trees not too far ahead. "I should have let you send that telegram to Pa."

"It'd only made him worry, Adam. Don't seem there's nothin' he could a done other than tell that there Deputy Blunt where and how _deep_ to go."

"He would have done that." Adam's voice grew quiet. "Still, Pa should know Joe's missing. You know how he is about him."

His brother nodded. There was no need for words. "So what now?"

"We try to think like Joe."

Hoss's reddish brows jumped. "How in _Tarnation_ are we gonna do that?"

Adam snorted. "Well, first we pretend we're ten, but that we think we're twenty and know how to handle everything. We've got a burr under our saddle that Pa's in trouble and we're going to save him come Hell _and_ high water. Then we convince a friend to lie for us, steal a horse, and take off on the road to Placerville. Then it rains. It rains hard."

"Adam..."

"I'd look for somewhere to hole up until it passed. Ground tie my horse and snuggle into some crack to wait. Somewhere out of the rain..."

"Adam."

He stopped. He'd thought Hoss was just interrupting, but his brother's face told him there was, unfortunately, a lot more to it. Hoss looked like he'd walked on his own grave.

"What is it?" the black-haired man asked. "Hoss?"

His brother was pointing. He swung around to look. What he found fed lead to a stomach already sunk about as low as it could go.

It was Buck.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The rain was falling steadily but, for the moment, its fall was gentle and light. Ben weighed his fear of it feeding into the river or creek against his need to remain under cover and make haste. He was weakening. He needed to tend to his own wound and get some rest so he could help his son. It would do Joseph little good if he collapsed in the mud, unable to continue. Moving along the ravine instead of the road above was shaving minutes off the travel time to the cabin, but every one of those minutes he traveled filled him with dread. There would be little warning. Maybe a rumble and a rush of sound, but by the time he heard the water coming, it would be too late.

They would drown.

Ben looked up at the ragged edge of grass and dirt above him. He'd contemplated climbing up the bank a couple of times when it dipped low, but fear of the outlaws' pursuit had stopped him. He hadn't seen or heard anything from their pursuers in quite a while, but that didn't mean they weren't there. It all depended on Drury Salter. It depended on whether _hate_ or money meant more to the wreck of a man.

God grant it was money.

Halting again Ben sat down. He needed to gather strength for the final push. He also wanted to see if he could get Joseph to respond. It had been a while since the boy had and he was worried. He'd wrapped Joe in his heavy brown coat to keep him warm after changing the bandages on his wounds for the second time. It was hard to see him. There was only the pale light of a rain-washed night to do it by.

"Joseph? Little Joe?"

Nothing.

"Joseph, it's Pa. Can you answer me?"

His son's eyelashes had always been long and dark as a girl's. They seemed even darker now against his pallid skin as they fluttered like butterflies on the wing. Joe's hand shifted. It reached upward toward his face.

"Pa..."

He caught his boy's hand and held onto it just as doggedly as he was holding onto their chance for life. "I'm here, son. How do you feel?"

"Cold."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear. Ben gathered his coat closer about his son, pulling it firmly around his neck and making sure it was buttoned tightly over his slight form. "The cabin's not that far away, Joe. You'll be warm soon."

"...tired."

He was tired too. _God_ , he was tired! They both needed rest. Needed sleep.

It would be so...easy...to...

Ben jerked awake. It had only been a second, but the fact that consciousness had fled did not bode well for their future. The older man sucked in air and shook himself and then climbed to his feet. He had to get them to the cabin. Had to _make_ it to the cabin. It offered the only hope they had.

Their only hope of living to see another day.

As he started to rise, his son's fingers clawed at his arm. He looked down to find Joseph lucid, at least for the moment. Tears filled his great green eyes and spilled over onto his filthy cheeks.

"Sorry... I'm...sorry, Pa."

"You've nothing to be sorry for, boy," he replied, catching his son's fingers and squeezing them.

"I...shot you."

He touched Joe's forehead. Unlike before where it had felt like a crock fresh out of the cooling room, it was burning hot. Dear Lord, if he was fevered and delirium was already setting in...

"You did nothing of the kind. You just rest."

"Pa..."

"Rest, Joseph," he said in his stern father's tone. "That's an order."

His son's brow furrowed. Sick as he was, there was still fight left in him. "Yes...sir," Joe pouted and then went silent.

Ben clutched the boy's unconscious form to his chest and looked up, seeking guidance. It came in the whisper of the wind through the pines and a memory. Joseph had had the whooping cough. It was the first crisis he'd had to face with the boy alone since his mother was gone. Joe's little body hardly seemed large enough to contain the monstrous coughs that wracked him. Between the fear of further infection and the fact that his son couldn't breathe, he'd spent countless endless nights sitting up with him, holding him, bracing his little ribs, feeling each and every cough and gasp as if it was his own. The Ponderosa had suffered. His other sons had suffered. Hop Sing had offered to spell him and he'd turned him away with a growl more than once. Then, one night, when he felt overwhelmed and pushed beyond endurance, the Chinese man had come again and stood humbly by as he laid a sleeping Joseph back in the bed and then dropped wearily in the chair beside it.

When he'd demanded to know what he was doing, Hop Sing said quietly, "Dripping water pierces stone."

Meaning _he_ would give in if he kept coming back. "Hop Sing, I'm not leaving Joseph. Not until I know he's all right."

"You, Hop Sing, Mistah Adam, and Mistah Hoss all on same boat in storm. All worry about Little Joe." He paused and his voice fell. "All worry about Mistah Ben."

He'd run a hand over his eyes. "There's nothing to worry about."

"Candle illuminates other people but extinguishes self. You no do Little Joe good if you make self sick."

He'd sat up, planting his feet on the floor, his temper flaring and his voice rising. "Don't you understand. I can't leave. If I leave – "

"Little Joe in God's hands. Is that not what Mistah Ben tell Hop Sing? Is Mistah Ben's god not big enough look after Little Joe while father sleeps?

Even though his friend hadn't said it, at that moment another of Hop Sin's many wise proverbs had sprung unbidden to his mind.

 _Drink water think source._

He'd forgotten his source then, just as he had now.

Wincing with pain, Ben hefted his son and began to walk again. As he did, though it didn't come easy, he began to recite the words he'd learned as a boy much younger than Joe was now.

"The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want..."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Buck's tracks had been nearly washed away by the rain and even worse, almost obliterated by the passage of Blunt's search party before they veered off to the north, but here and there they'd found a few made with the buckskin's well-known shoes. The tracks had led them to a point on the road about five hours out from the ranch that was blocked by a fallen tree. At first they'd thought the tree had been uprooted by the storm. Hoss had been the first to realize it wasn't so. While he'd been casting about to see what he could find, his brother had climbed over the trunk and gone to look at the roots. Hoss had called him over and pointed to where shovel marks cut into the tender flesh of the tree, making it all too apparent that it had been displaced purposefully. After that, they'd advanced down the road a ways, keeping an eye out for signs. They'd stopped again to look near a place where the road sloped down to a patch of rock that led into a ravine. The edge of the road was disturbed, like someone might have gone over recently.

"What do you s'pose it means, Adam?" his brother asked, clearly worried. Apparently his look said it all. "Your thinkin' like I am that it was them there bank robbers Roy came out to warn us about what felled that tree?"

He didn't _want_ to think that, but yes, he did.

"I'm afraid it's the only explanation I can think of. Maybe... Maybe somehow they knew Pa was carrying all that money and they were laying in wait for him."

"But how'd they know that? He didn't tell no one."

"He wouldn't have had to tell the people in Placerville. They'd have seen him leaving the bank. And then there's the hands..."

"You thinkin' one of Pa's men did this?"

He pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't know what I'm thinking, Hoss, other than that we're now looking for Joe _and_ Pa."

The night was falling around them as well as a steady rain. It wouldn't be long before they would be forced to halt their search and make camp until morning. As he looked around, Hoss asked, "You think they're together? You think Joe found Pa before..."

There were a number of possibilities. All of them bad.

Adam glanced at the sky. "We've got about an hour of light left. Let's look around and see what we can find."

They split up, one of them heading farther up the road and the other staying behind to search the area below. Hoss had opted for the latter, which included checking out the steep muddy drop-off located on the road's southern side. He'd argued that, since he was younger, he was the one who should do it. Adam hadn't gone two hundred feet down the road when he heard his brother shout out.

"Adam! Adam, come back! I found something!"

The panic in his tone was evident.

Slipping as he went, Adam ran the length of the stretch he'd just covered. He was panting by the time he reached his brother's side. Hoss was halfway down the hill. He'd anchored one of his legs around an upturned root and was reaching down, dangling dangerously over the fifteen foot drop below.

"Hoss, be careful!" he called out. "The rain may have made that stump unstable."

"I...know. I just...gotta...get...hold... There! Got it!" Hoss straightened up. Adam saw his brother's massive shoulders go slack.

"What is it? What did you find?"

The teenager was climbing slowly up the hill. He reached out at the top and Adam caught his hand and helped him finish his ascent.

Once Hoss was seated safely on the road, he asked him again, "What did you find?"

His brother drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he held up his hand. "This."

Adam took it. It was a piece of gun-metal blue cloth, wadded up into a tight ball and wet with mud. Even as he opened his mouth to ask his brother what it meant, the color and make of it clicked in his mind.

"It's Pa's, ain't it? I mean the shirt."

He nodded. "I think so. It's hard to tell it's so covered with mud."

"That ain't mud, Adam," his brother said quietly. "I tasted it. It's blood."

Adam stared at the remnant. It made sense. He'd seen his pa do it before when one of them was hurt. He'd tear strips from the tail of his shirt, wad it up, and press it against the wound to staunch the bleeding.

The wind knocked out of him, Adam dropped to the ground at his brother's side.

As his eyes wandered over the vast expanse of land below them, Hoss asked, "Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

"I'm not thinking at all," he said woodenly. "What are _you_ thinking?"

"I'm thinkin' Joe found Pa and that it's little brother that's hurt."

Adam eyed the wad of bloody cloth and then his brother. "Why would you think that?"

"Cause it's waded up so small-like, in such a tiny little ball." Hoss rose to his feet and looked up and down the road. "Where would they a gone, Adam? I mean, if Joe was hurt, why not stay put 'til help come?"

"We don't know it's Joe," he said as he joined him.

"We don't know it ain't." Hoss pursed his lips and shook his head. "I'm thinkin' it is."

There was a special bond between Hoss and Joe, one that left him on the outside much of the time. It had grown while he had been away at college, while his own ties to the two of them had been stretched thin by distance and time – and by his own choice.

"All right, we'll assume it is. That's good then." At his brother's look, he added quickly, "What I mean is that if its Joe who's hurt, he's got Pa to look after him. If it was the other way around..."

His brother drew in another breath. This one didn't come out as easily. "You think them bad men hurt him? Maybe hurt _both_ of them?"

There was a lot in that question, including clues to what Hoss would do if it proved to be true.

Adam placed a hand on his brother's arm. "We have to keep our heads. Finding Pa and Joe is what matters now. Agreed?"

His brother glanced at him and then to the ground. Then he nodded.

"All right, let's see what else we can find."

In the end it was enough to paint a horrific story. On the ground close by they found one of their pa's saddlebags emptied out and a few loose dollar bills on the ground. Near it was his hat, which had been trampled in the mud. On the other side of the road, near the place where the edge had been disturbed, they found a leather satchel with a broken strap. Hoss let out an audible moan when he saw it.

It was Joe's.

Immediately after they found the satchel, darkness had fallen . With the increased cloud cover and the constant nagging rain it was black as a smithy's face. There was little they could do but hunker down and wait for the sun to come up on the new day. Little but wait and worry and hope.

And pray.

Adam knew that was what his father would do. Pa would be on his knees pleading with God and then bowing to His plan just like he'd done when his own mother had sickened, when Pa had looked at Inger with that arrow in her; like Pa had done while sitting at Marie's side waiting for her to die from her injuries. Their Pa was a strong man, made more so by the trials he'd weathered. His own trials had been few. Oh, he'd had hard times like all men, but he hadn't been called upon to look such terrific loss in the face and accept it as God's will.

The black-haired man wondered, _could_ he? Or would he instead curse God for letting it happen, for not intervening?

For not making life on Earth, Heaven?

"You better get some sleep, Adam," his brother said, his words slurring as sleep overtook him. "Ain't no knowin' what tomorrow'll bring."

Adam looked up. _God_ knew, that's what his father would tell him. He should ask his Heavenly Father for help, but at the moment, that just wasn't something he could do.

Troubled, Adam rolled over in his blanket and turned his face into the darkness and laid there until exhaustion took him into a deep, uneasy sleep.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

They were nearing the end of the ravine, which meant the Hinson cabin was not too far ahead. There was only one problem. Ben didn't have the strength to climb out, not carrying Joseph, and there was no way under Heaven he was going to let the boy go for even one minute. His own blood loss had been the least of his concerns. Now he was realizing that it was sheer will alone that had kept him on his feet this long. On top of the debilitating effects of his wound, it had been at least twelve hours since he'd had anything to eat. He'd tended to Joseph's shoulder, removing the old and pressing new cloth against it to staunch the blood. Once they'd started moving again he'd grown dizzy and light-headed and his entire world had narrowed to putting one foot in front of the other.

Above his head the stars were peeping through the clouds, promising an end to this round of rain. Still, the remnants of the storm rumbled in the distance. He thanked God for the gift that it had passed and for the fact that the rainfall had been light throughout the night and neither the creek nor river gone over their banks. Gripping Joe, he moved on, keeping an eye to the walls of wet dirt on either side. It was several minutes later when he found a low spot, one he thought he might be able to climb, but as he worked his way up the bank the sopping grass offered no purchase and Ben found himself sliding back down to the bottom.

That was it. His strength was gone.

The tears he had denied all day came then in a flood. He didn't care about himself. All he cared about was his son.

"God," Ben whispered as darkness fought hard to take him, "are you here? Do you hear me? I've lived a good life, Lord, I'm ready. But my boy..." His voice broke and he choked. "He's so very young. Save him, Lord. Take me if you have to, but save Joe." Ben felt himself slipping away. It was going black before his eyes.

"Please, send someone to save him..."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

There was another flash of light, closer this time, as if Heaven had heard and sent a reply. Thunder rumbled, rolling across the land in agreement.

At the top of the ravine a man appeared. He was slight of build and about medium in height and was dressed in humble clothes including a simple white shirt and brown trousers. The curly hair on his head was a mixture of darkness and light – chestnut with glints of silver. He paused, looking and listening, as if uncertain of what he had heard, and then moved to a position directly above the silent pair.

Then he knelt.

Below the boy stirred. He lifted his own curly brown head and looked up. Joseph Cartwright's cracked lips parted and he called out softly, "Adam?", before falling still again.

 _No_ , the man thought, _not Adam._

Not _yet._


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

Sheriff Roy Coffee ran a hand over his eyes and snorted out the remainder of the rain he'd breathed in on his hasty trip out to the Ponderosa and then sighed. The man what had brought him news of the trouble early this mornin' had said someone was shot dead and not much more. He didn't know who. All the way out he'd been wonderin' which of the Cartwrights was lost. He knew Ben. He knew if anythin' threatened one of his boys, Ben'd be right in the thick of it, puttin' himself in danger. But then he knew them boys too. Adam, well, for all Adam'd been away, when he'd come home he'd slipped back into life on the ranch like a well-fitted glove, helpin' his pa with the business end of things and easin' some of Ben's burden. He was a responsible boy and would take responsibility for his pa and brothers even if that meant givin' up his life. Then there was Hoss. That big one, there weren't no takin' him, and if he thought his pa or one of his brother's was in danger, he'd be the first to put himself in-between it and them. But of all of them boys it was that youngest one he was worried about. He'd kind of wondered when Ben come back from New Orleans with that pretty little slip of a thing on his arm what he was thinkin'. Marie, well, she'd been a spitfire, that one. ' _Tempestuous'_ , that was the word the Doc had used about her one day when they'd disagreed about a treatment for her son, and it fit. He'd looked it up. 'Stormy', Webster's' said, 'wild, lively, and explosive.'

The definition might as well have read: 'Little Joe Cartwright.'

Roy sighed as he looked at the pair of bodies laid out in the Cartwright's stable. They was covered with wool blankets but their boots were stickin' out. One was the ranch's current foreman, Andy, and the other one of Ben's hands. Seems three men had come ridin' in with some cockamamie story about Ben being waylaid on the road and him sendin' them to fetch help. They'd had one of his saddlebags so no one doubted it. The foreman had been in the ranch house meetin' with Hop Sing and they'd barged in there to talk with him – and then pulled their guns and demanded the money in the safe. 'Course that foreman wasn't about to turn over the money due to the fact that Ben wouldn't want him to _and_ it was owed his hard-workin' men. There'd been a fight. The foreman and the fellow with him was shot dead. Hop Sing had tried to defend his house and had knocked one of the three out by hittin' him over the head with a fryin' pan.

The China man was downright lucky all he was nursin' was a wound to his arm and nothin' worse.

Roy shook his head and turned to look at the other side of the stable. That outlaw what Hop Sing took out was layin' there, moanin'.

Served the fellow right. He hoped he had a headache the size of the Nevada territory!

The older man turned as one of his deputies came in. He was drippin' wet. It must be rainin' again. Hell of a time for the heavens to open when he had a man and a boy missin'. "What you got for me, Thom?" he asked.

Thom Wilson was a good man. He was a new father with a brand new baby at home. He'd been workin' all mornin' tryin' to make some sense out of what had happened.

Thom drew a breath. "We followed the tracks of the other two as best we could, Roy."

He nodded. "That rain ain't made trackin' easy, I'm sure."

His deputy blew out a breath. "No. They headed southwest and then we lost them."

The older man frowned. "Toward Placerville, you think?"

"Maybe." Thom paused. "Roy, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Roy shook his head. "You just tell me what _you're_ thinkin', Thom, and I'll let you know."

Thom hesitated and then spoke. "Josh Billings – the man taking over as foreman – told me Ben Cartwright took off for Placerville about a week and a half ago. He was coming back with ten thousand cash to add to the ten thousand in the safe to make payroll. I'm wondering, since they had the saddlebag, if these men knew about the money on _this_ end as well..."

That there saddlebag was a sore point. Them three outlaws could a picked it up somewhere, but then again, they coulda taken it off Ben hisself. Seems someone here on the Ponderosa, or there in Placerville, had been watchin' when Ben took off to get that money.

"You think it could be those outlaws we were warned about, Roy?"

Roy thought a moment. "Thom, is that pretty little of wife of yours able to do without you for a spell yet?"

"Yeah. Her Ma's there. With the baby so little, I didn't want to leave Mary alone."

He walked over and placed a hand on Thom's shoulder. "That's wise, son. Now, if you don't mind, you keep an eye on our 'guest' over there. I'm thinkin' I need to talk to Hop Sing again."

As he headed for the stable door, his deputy called him back. "Roy?"

"Yes, son?"

"Do you think...well...do you think those men waylaid Ben Cartwright before coming here?"

Roy pursed his lips and nodded.

"Sad to say, Thom, you _are_ thinkin' what I'm thinkin'."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The Cartwright's Chinese cook was nowhere to be seen when Roy entered the ranch house. Then the sheriff heard somethin' rattlin' in the kitchen and decided Hop Sing must have gone there. As he approached the cookin' wing of the Cartwright's house, the lawman caught a whiff of somethin' stewin' in the pot and his mouth watered. He'd skipped breakfast in his haste to make it out here and find out who was and wasn't alive. It had a kind of odd smell about it. Must be one of them there China man dishes.

Pausing just inside the entryway, Roy shook his head. Hop Sing was standin, leanin' over a kettle and usin' his good arm to stir whatever was in it.

"Ain't you s'posed to be in bed restin'?" he asked.

Ben's cook stiffened. He didn't look at him. "Hop Sing have no time sleep. Hop Sing work. Mistah Cartwright, sons come home soon. Things need done."

Roy loped into the room and leaned on the timber island that floated in the middle of it. "You know, the Doc wouldn't be happy if he knew you was up and at it."

"Doctor not know if sheriff not tell."

The older man smiled. He couldn't argue with that. He glanced at the arm the China man had taken the bullet in. The dressin' was white, so it seemed the bleedin' had stopped.

"You sure you don't need to lie down?"

He watched the man's knuckles go white on the spoon. "If sheriff stop yak-yak Hop Sing finish work. Go lay down then. Make sheriff happy. Maybe then sheriff go away."

Roy waited two heartbeats. "I'm worried about Ben and the boys too," was all he said.

It was like one of them bladders the boys took and blowed up and let go of, and then whooped and hollered as it lost its air and fell to the ground. Plain and simple, Hop Sing collapsed.

The lawman crossed the kitchen in three steps and caught hold of the China man and helped him to a chair. The man's tanned skin had paled and looked like leather stripped of color. He knit his hands together in his lap. For a moment he said nothing, then he lifted his black eyes.

"Hop Sing _velly, velly_ frightened, Mistah Roy."

Roy pulled another chair up and sat on it. "Can you tell me again what happened?"

The China man let out a long sigh. "Hop Sing fail Mistah Ben and boys."

He kicked back. "And how's that? Seems to me you took out one of the men tryin' to rob them."

"Hop Sing not take out _other_ two! They get away!"

"Well, now, considerin' your only weapon was a fryin' pan, I'd say you did right good to get one and chase off the others."

The cook looked pained. "But where Hop Sing chase them?" he asked, his voice hushed with worry. "Back on road to Placerville? Back to Mistah Ben and Little Joe? Or maybe find Mistahs Adam and Hoss?"

Hop Sing had told him about Joe takin' off in the middle of the night and his brothers takin' off after him. Though it had kept them from bein' at the house when the outlaws tried to rob it, it meant too that they were out there just like Ben. Odds were one or all of them would be meetin' up with those bad men.

If they already hadn't.

"Now, let's not go borrowin' trouble," he said as he rose to his feet. "You got anythin' else you can tell me, Hop Sing, that you ain't told me yet?"

The cook shook his head from side to side, sadly, slowly. "Men come in house. Hop Sing in kitchen. Hop Sing hear men argue with foreman. Then hear two shots." He grimaced. "Grab pan then and go in great room. Two dead men on floor. Two others by safe. One by settee. Hop Sing hit him _hard_." As he paused, he rubbed his arm just above the wound. "Man by safe shoot Hop Sing in arm. Then hear men shouting in yard. Other bad men run away."

It was just like he'd told it before.

"I appreciate you goin' over it with me again, Hop Sing. You never know when a man..." Roy paused. The cook looked sick. "You okay?"

His voice was quiet. "Hop Sing remember something else. Remember name."

Hope surged through him. "What name?"

"When man run out door, he call out to other. 'Slater', he say. 'Slater, run!'" The cook's eyes were moist when he looked up. "Name help sheriff?"

"Slater, eh?" He thought a moment. "Well, it don't ring a bell now, but once I send out some telegrams and they come back, here's bettin' it does." He moved over to the China man and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Hop Sing." Roy's eyes went to the pot on the stove. It was boilin' away. "Now, don't you think you better see to your soup?"

The Cartwright's cook smiled. "Not cook soup."

Roy scowled. "Then what's in the pot?"

The China man walked over to the kettle. Takin' a spoon in hand he stirred it and then lifted somethin' long and danglin' up.

"Hop Sing cook Mistah Cartwright sons' socks!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe was somewhere, somewhere _real_ pretty.

The day was warm and he felt like he didn't have a care in the world. His shoes were off, his pants legs rolled up, and there was a breeze rifling through his unruly hair. It tossed the long brown curls into his eyes as he walked. As he batted them away, Joe thought about what his pa had told him just the day before – that he needed to go to town with Adam or Hoss to get that hair cut before someone mistook him for one of those Bigfoot monsters the Indians talked about and took a shot at him. He'd snorted and told his pa he could outrun any Indian – and Bigfoot too for that matter – and then had taken off running lickety-split to show him just how fast he was. Pa'd laughed and started running too. They'd run and run until they both were winded and then they'd fallen into the grass and started laughing. They laughed until his sides were sore and his pa's were too and they couldn't keep laughing anymore.

It was then he heard it. That monster. The one he'd outrun.

It was laughing too.

Joe blinked and the night had fallen. He could hear pa whispering, but he didn't know where he was. _He_ was still on the ground where his laughing had made him fall, but instead of laying there he was on his hands and knees, grasping the wet blades of grass, crawling, pulling himself forward, trying to reach his pa where he lay whispering. In the distance he heard that old monster laughing at him still, calling him a baby, jeering at him for even trying.

For trying to save his pa.

Pa. Pa was hurt. That old Big Foot'd taken a swing at him with its claws. He remembered it now. He remembered his pa grabbing his side, remembered him falling over the edge of the hill – saw Pa laying there at the bottom all white and pale and breathing hard, his eyes narrowed in that way he had when he was hopping mad.

 _You did this, Joe. It's your fault. You did this, son._

Joe stopped where he was in the grass, his fingers clutching that wet blades, his heart pounding and head screaming.

 _Joe. You did this, Joe._

And he heard that monster laughing. Laughing loud and long and hard. The sound echoed across the world and rolled over the wet grass until it turned into thunder. A second later, the lightning flashed and there was someone standing there, watching. Someone who was laughing. The monster. Who _was_ the monster? If the lightning would _just_ flash again he could see. He could see who was laughing at his pa dying and he could take them out. He could see and...

The lightning struck, brilliant, revealing.

 _True._

It was him – he was older, but it was him. It was _him_ standing up there on the top of that rise. It was _him_ who was laughing.

Even as his pa died.

With a gasp Joe bolted upright. He struck out with his hands, trying to take that monster, aiming to get hold of its throat and _squeeze_ until it was dead.

Trying...

Strong fingers gripped his wrists and held them. Joe battled against them. He fought for all he was worth, thrashing from side to side and striking out, wanting to hurt it, wanting to drive away what he had seen –

What he had done.

"Son," a soft voice said. "Son?"

Joe's weary form arched with pain and then fell back exhausted. It was only then he realized that what lay under him was softer than it should have been if he was still outside.

"Can you open your eyes?" a man asked.

Could he? "I..don't...know."

There was a sigh, not of irritation but of relief. Joe heard the man murmur something soft. Then he said, "The prayers of your father have been answered."

Joe blinked. Still, his eyes didn't open. He felt the man release his wrists and then lower his arms to the...bed? Yeah, there was a bed under him, with a straw tick and feather pillow. A second later the man took hold of his hand. Cool fingers gently caressed the skin on the back of it.

It kind of stung.

"...Pa?"

"Your Pa is sleeping child, like you've been. Like you should be now."

Joe frowned as he shifted. It hurt. "Who...who are you?"

A hand lifted his head. A bowl was pressed against his lips. Cool water touched them. He drank a bit, relishing the healing touch of it even as it spilled down his chin. Joe heard the bowl strike a table's surface and then the hand lowered him back down.

Lips brushed his forehead. They were cool too.

"Who am I?" the man asked, his words soft.

"A friend."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was past dawn and Adam was kneeling at the side of the road looking down. As they'd noted the day before there was a place where something slid down, creating a channel that ran along the side of the hill. This was where Hoss had hung suspended the night before and where he'd found that _damned_ piece of bloodied cloth. No, not 'damned', Adam corrected himself as he tipped back his hat, stood up, and looked around. His pa would have called it _blessed_ for, even though it meant pain and suffering and a threat of death, it was a sign post to life as well. Pa could always look at things that way. See the good in the bad. It was his strength.

One he wasn't sure he had.

"So you made your mind up yet, Adam?" Hoss asked him as he came out of the trees where he'd gone to relieve himself.

It was funny how Hoss deferred so easily to him. Little Joe would have had an opinion, made it clear, and then fought like a puma to make sure they took action on it.

They'd talked it out earlier. There were a few options. They could go back to the ranch and raise a party of men and come back to look for Pa and Joe. Or, they could take those men and ride into Virginia City, find Roy Coffee, and head out again with him. They could continue on the road to Placerville and see if they could find any sign of their pa's passage and then ask about him in town. Or they could slide down the mucky hill that lay before them and head for the ravine that lay slightly to the south and see if there was any indication either his father or brother had been there.

It was a long shot, that last one, but something was tugging him that way.

Adam pursed his lips and blew out a sigh. "The men at the ranch have to know we're missing by now. Maybe Blunt's made it back. Most likely the hands have raised a search party of their own and let Roy know what's going on. I don't think we need to go back to the ranch. We could go to Placerville, but..." He glanced at his bedroll where his father's empty saddlebag and hat lay. "...we already know Pa was waylaid and we know why."

"Money. Stinkin' money," Hoss growled.

"The love of which is the root of all evil," he murmured.

Hoss came to stand alongside him. He indicated the hill with a nod. "So you're thinkin' we need to go down there. Where I found that wadded up cloth."

"Yes. Think about it, brother. If Pa was waylaid and Joe somehow stumbled into it and got...hurt... What would you do?"

"Try to get him outta danger as quick as I could."

"I agree." He nodded toward the ravine. "If it was me, I would have gone down this hill, into the shadows and darkness below, and then made for that ravine. You remember it, don't you? There are a great many places where a man could hide."

Hoss looked at the sky. "I ain't so sure I would 'a done that, Adam," his brother said softly. "Not with the threat of rain comin' down and river water fillin' it up any minute."

"Me either. Unless I was desperate."

Hoss drew in a great gulp of air, as if his thoughts and fears threatened to stop him breathing. He hesitated and then he said, sounding like a kid younger than Joe.

"I'm skeered, Adam."

 _He_ was too, but he was twenty-two and the oldest and his responsibility just didn't allow him to admit it. He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"We'll find them. You'll see. I'm thinking Pa made for the old Hinson place. It's at the end of that ravine. If he and Joe made it there, they'd have shelter and most likely supplies. Jim left pretty quickly after the boys and Martha died."

Hoss was silent a moment. "The Injuns think that place is haunted. Some town folk too. No one goes there."

Adam hid his smile. Of all of them Hoss had the biggest heart and, in a way, the biggest imagination. Oh, Joe could come up with some whoppers, but little brother had a healthy skepticism when it came to believing in things he couldn't see. The black-haired man smiled. Much like he did. On the other hand, when he thought no one was looking, he'd seen Hoss toss salt over his shoulder and make a detour around black cats. Let a floorboard creak in the middle of the night and the big galoot was sure it was some long lost soul paying the Ponderosa a visit, instead of Pa going down to get a glass of milk.

"Well, that's all the better for us," he said at last. "I'd hate to think those outlaws might be using it as a hideout if that's where Pa _did_ head."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright's eyes opened slowly. He moaned as pain and memory bled back into the reality he found himself in. Since it hurt to move any and _everything_ , he only moved his eyes, letting them roam about whatever place he was in. He could see walls and noted the flicker of a fire's light dancing on them. He didn't remember walls. Or a bed. His fingers shifted, gripping the tick under him. It should be...

Mud.

It came back in one swift vision – heading home in the rain, the fallen tree blocking his path, the men who were there to rob him. The man...Drury Slater impossibly holding Joe with a knife pressed into the tender flesh of his throat.

If he could have Ben would have bolted upright. He couldn't. So instead he slowly, painfully levered himself up on one elbow and searched the darkened space for a sign that however he had come to be here, his boy had come to be here with him too.

It was then Ben realized they'd made it to the Hinson's old place. The cabin was small and tight but had been ample as a starting place for a family of four. There were remnants of the Hinson's former occupation glimpsed furtively in the dark – a pair of faded red and white checked curtains, an unlikely print of a fashionable young French woman on the wall; a pair of skates hung haphazardly over a ladder-back chair. The sickness had come to them in the winter when no one could reach them. By the time the snow had melted, half of James' family had been dead.

He could almost see James' wife and two boys, standing there, staring at him, wondering why he should live when they had to die.

Two boys. One of them had been small, with a ready smile and curly hair just like his youngest.

His youngest.

Ben drew a deep breath and forced himself up. With a hand to his wounded side, he swung his feet off the side of the bed. When he stood up, it took a moment to find balance, but after he did he began to cast about, searching for a sign of his son.

He found it in a small flickering light near the back of the cabin. Or at least he thought he did. There was a small room at the rear with a blanket for a door. Most likely it had been Jim and Martha's room. The blanket was drawn back and fastened on a nail and the bed inside was occupied. As he stumbled forward with hope in his heart that it was his son, a soft flare of light caught Ben's attention and drew it momentarily to the window. He couldn't tell if it was raining where he was, but there was a storm out there somewhere still raging.

A storm that he and Joe were in the middle of.

Relief flooded through him when he reached the side of the bed and sat down heavily on it. There was a heap of warm blankets with a small curly head sticking out of the top. He laid a hand on the blankets first and offered up a small prayer of thanks, and then shifted the hand to his son's head. The boy' bandage had been removed and the wound there cleaned. The bleeding had stopped. The fever, however, had not. Joe was burning up. Leaning down, he listened to his son's ragged breathing. There was a small rattle, not enough to signal danger but more than enough to worry about. In order for his boy to have been taken by that dreadful man, Joe had to have been out in the rain the same as him. Beyond whatever damage the villains' bullets had done, there was a very real possibility the boy had been chilled to the bone and that could leave him vulnerable to pneumonia. As he shifted to ease the pain in his side, meaning to grasp the blanket and pull it down to view his son, Ben halted. His fingers went to the place where the bullet had gone into _him_. He touched it, astonished, and looked down.

His side was bandaged as well.

In fact, the shirt that covered the bandage wasn't _his_ shirt. It was undamaged and dry and not blood-stained and...

What was going on here?

Even as the thought crossed Ben's mind that someone else might be there Joseph stirred, shifting beneath the covers and murmuring something from deep within a troubled sleep. Putting his questions where they belonged – out of mind – the older man placed his hand on his son's head, noting Joe's hair was still matted and dirty, but some of the bracken and blood had been cleaned from it. Leaning in, he spoke close to his ear.

"It's all right, Joseph. Pa's here."

Joe's restless shifting stopped. He didn't say anything, but a small smile tickled the corner of the boy's lips.

Satisfied that his son was sleeping and not unconscious, Ben reached for the blanket again and pulled it away. The shoulder he had pressed the wadded cloth up against was the one on top, so he gently turned his son over and lifted the bandage to get a better look at what damage had been done. What he found nearly unmanned him.

He had been mistaken. There was no bullet hole.

Trembling, Ben sat back, taking a minute to gather his thoughts. He closed his eyes and tried to see that terrible moment when Joe had run toward the rocks as he instructed and that other one, when he had looked and thought he saw a hole going straight through the child's flesh.

He had been so _sure._ How in God's name the boy had not been hit square in the back he didn't know...

Ben snorted and ran a hand across his grizzled face and looked up. Yes, he did. How could he forget?

In God's name.

Still looking up, he whispered, "Thanks," and then returned to his examination. Joe's shoulder had been bandaged by someone with skill. From what he could see as he gently pried at the linen strips away again, his son had been struck by the bullet but it had run along the surface of his skin instead of penetrating it. The projectile had cut a fairly deep channel through Joseph's tender flesh. That was why it had bled so much.

While Joe was in no means out of the woods – there was always the chance of infection – the fact that the bullet had not entered the boy's body was indeed a blessing from Heaven.

Closing his eyes, Ben allowed himself a moment to reflect. How many times in his forty-plus years had he been in this position – seated by the bedside of someone he loved who was on the verge of leaving him? _Too_ many, he decided. The Good Book spoke of being tested by fire. ' _Behold_ ," it said in Isaiah _, 'I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tested you in the furnace of affliction.'_

The furnace of affliction. He knew its white-hot fire all too well.

Why, he wondered? Why had God shaken him and pressed him, and all but struck him down with more grief then any one man should have to bear?

Why?

Into the stillness came an answer, whispered by the constant wind outside. _For your God is a God of comfort. He comforts us in trouble so that we can comfort those in trouble. Ben Cartwright, you have been chosen to be the hands and feet of God._

Ben started and sat up. He looked around confused. Had he heard someone speaking? Had...God actually spoke to him? Had –

The door opened. Ben rose and stepped into the next room as it did. Perhaps the answer was about to walk in.

But no, it wasn't an answer, but another question he would have for the Lord when he saw Him at last.

Ben's heart skipped a beat.

It was Drury Salter


	7. Chapter 7

SEVEN

Roy Coffee stood looking down at the rain-splashed road before him. The puddles linin' it were like small pans of gold, reflectin' back the light of the risin' moon. The day was ebbin' and the glow on the horizon was awful purty, but like his old friend Ben Cartwright, he knew looks could be deceivin'. Ben had learned a lot from his sailin' days and he'd passed some of that there knowledge on to him. The night was warmer than usual with an unnatural southerly wind. Addin' that to the ring around the moon, it looked like the batch of storms they'd been weatherin' wasn't goin' away any time soon.

He'd gone back to town after talkin' with Hop Sing to see if any of the telegrams he'd' sent out had an answer. There wasn't much of anythin' about the whereabouts of the outlaws that hit the Ponderosa, but there was a batch of troublin' ones that come from Placerville. They wasn't addressed to him and the man at the telegraph office hesitated to mention them, but once he caught the gist of what was goin' on – that Ben Cartwright and his boys were missin' – he'd handed it right over legal or not.

It seemed the bank teller what had helped Ben withdraw the money for the payroll had gone missin'. The bank manager, one Theodore Botkin, had wired Ben to tell him he suspected Salter – that was the teller's name, Drury Salter – might be plannin' to try to get his hands on that money and that he posed a threat to Ben and his boys. There was a series of telegrams. Must have cost the banker a fortune, which showed just how scared he was.

SALTER MISSING. STOP. MAY BE AFTER MONEY. STOP. PLEASE TAKE CARE. STOP.

SALTER SEEN LEAVING TOWN. STOP. COULD BE DANGEROUS. STOP. MAYBE OTHERS WITH HIM. STOP.

SALTER ON THE ROAD TO VIRGINIA CITY. STOP. KNOW STORY. STOP. HATES YOU BEN. STOP. BLAMES FOR FAMILY DEAD. STOP.

NOT RIGHT IN THE HEAD.

STOP.

Roy could see all those telegrams, fanned out across the telegraph office desk, lookin' for all the world like some kind of flag signalin' him that he'd better high-tail it and find Ben and those boys soon or he might not be findin' them at all.

 _Alive_ , at least.

The sheriff looked up at a sound. It was Thom. "You find somethin'?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"What?"

Thom shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure."

"Well, just _what_ is it you ain't sure about?"

"We found the remnants of a camp nearby. Looks like someone stayed here overnight."

"Any sign of who?"

"Two men. One was a big fellow. Boots cut right down into the wet ground."

"Big boots?"

Thom snorted. "Big enough."

Roy bobbed his head slowly. "It coulda been Hoss."

"It would make sense," Thom agreed. "Then the other would be Adam."

"Could you tell where they was headed?"

"Not far," Thom said with a sigh.

"Why not?"

"I told you I wasn't sure what all of it meant." He threw a glance back over his shoulder. "We found two horses tethered back in the trees. They had plenty of grass. Their saddles are off and hidden nearby. Looks like someone left them but intended to come back soon."

Roy scowled. "Now, if it was Adam and Hoss what in _Tarnation_ would they be doin' leavin' their horses behind when they're out huntin' for their pa and brother. You sure it's _their_ horses?"

"I've ridden with Adam. It's his mount for sure. And I think I know Hoss' well enough." Thom drew a breath. "That Adam, he's a thinker. If he left his horse there's a good reason for it."

"Or maybe they was surprised. Had to run."

But no, that didn't work, not with the way the horses had been left, as if whoever owned them expected to be gone for a few hours at most. He knew what Thom meant. That Adam, he had what they called an analytical mind. Thought things through before actin'. Roy smiled. Just about the opposite of Ben's littlest one. Men might think their sons were made in their image, but to his mind it had an awful lot to do with their Ma.

"Let's think this through like Adam must of. Somethin' stopped those boys here. Some sign of their pa or brother no doubt. Somethin' that made them think they had to take off on foot."

"You think those men found them?"

He shook his head. "Ain't no other fresh tracks. No, they took off on their own, after their pa or Little Joe would be my guess. If God's watchin', maybe both."

Thom was lookin' the same way he'd been earlier. "Down there, you think?" He nodded toward the ridge.

It was a calculation he wished he had Adam there to look at. It had been rainin' hard. Would Ben take that boy of his into a ravine when Noah's flood might come roarin' down on them any minute? Finally, he shook his head.

"Don't seem likely. Not with the rain."

Thom thought a moment and then nodded. "So where?"

"Well, you found the horses on up the road. Come first light we'll head out north and see what we can find."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Joseph. Joseph, you need to wake up. Your father needs you." The quiet voice was followed by a gentle touch. "Joseph."

He blinked and one eye came open. "Who...?"

Fingers touched his lips. "You must remain quiet. We are not alone."

Joe frowned. Of course, they weren't. Pa was here...somewhere. Wasn't he?"

"But..."

The touch and voice were firm. "Be silent, child."

Joe opened his eyes then. The room was dark. A single taper lit it, that and the occasional flash of lightning in the distance as it came through the window. He moved and it was only then that he realized just how much he hurt. His whole body ached and he recognized the signs of fever. He'd had that one back when he'd coughed so much and remembered what it was when his skin felt like someone was dragging glass-paper over it. There was something else too – something else that burned like a ditch full of dry grass set on fire. He tried to reach for it, but decided it was too much effort. There was something like a brand on the back of his shoulder. Joe frowned. Then he remembered.

Pa!

Gingerly rolling over, he looked at the man standing in the shadows by the door. It wasn't pa, so who was it? He wasn't a big man. He was way shorter than Pa. He was kinda small too, like people said he'd be when he grew up, and had the same kind of wild curly hair. Somehow he saw him looking. He raised his hand then, calling again for silence. Joe scowled. There was no reason to trust him other than his kind voice and the gentle touch of his hand, but for some reason, well, he did.

Not that he had much choice.

The man crossed back over to him and knelt at his side. Touching his arm he asked, "Joseph, can you be _very_ brave?"

The muscles in his jaw tightened. He nodded.

The man's face wrinkled with a smile. "There's my strong warrior. I want you to come with me, but no matter what you see – no matter _what_ , Joseph, you have to remain silent. Your life – your _father's_ life depends on it. Maybe your brothers' too."

"Hoss? And Adam?"

"Yes."

It was then he heard other voices.

"Why don't we just kill him? Him _and_ the kid? They've seen us. They know who we are!"

"Don't be an idiot, Mosley. They _all_ know who we are. Half the territory is probably on our tail right now. The only thing that is going to save us is money and a free pass to Mexico. What we need is a bargaining chip and Cartwright's it."

"What about the boy?"

Joe looked at the man, his eyes wide. The stranger nodded and beckoned him to his side. Joe pushed the covers aside and sat up. He waited a moment for his vision to clear enough that he wouldn't stumble and then, barefoot, padded to the man's side.

Arms encircled him, pulling him close. A finger pointed.

What he saw made him go rigid, every muscle tensed and ready to spring. His pa was sitting in a chair beside a table. Pa was tied to it and his head was hanging down. There were bruises on his face and neck and the side of his shirt was red with blood.

"Pa..."

"Joseph," the man's voice whispered close to his ear, "do you know why you are here?"

He nodded. "I gotta save pa. I – "

"You cannot save your father."

The words were spoken evenly, clearer, with no room left for doubt.

"But..."

"Not alone. You must find your brothers."

"No," his whisper was fierce. "No!I _can_ do it alone!"

The man moved with him back into the darkness of the room, taking him away from the door and that awful vision. "Joseph," he said softly, looking into his eyes. 'do you remember Abraham?"

He blinked. "Who?"

"From Sunday school."

He didn't have any classmates named Abraham. Then he realized the man meant _the_ Abraham – the father of the Jewish nation.

"I guess."

"Abraham was a man much like you, Joseph. A man of fire and determination. Do you remember how _badly_ he wanted a son?"

"What's this got to do with Pa?" he asked, his head turning back toward the door with the blanket over it.

"God asked Abraham to wait. Did he wait?"

He had to think about it. Hard. "No... I don't think so."

"No. Abraham would not listen. He tried to force God's hand. Don't make the same mistake, Joseph. Look for guidance. Wait. _Listen_."

"But Pa..."

A hand was laid alongside his face. "Your father, in many ways, is like Abraham as well. He is a man of faith and prayer, and a generous provider. And he is courageous. Can you be like your father? Can you be courageous and wait for the right time to act?"

Joe was breathing hard. He could hear each breath drawn in the darkness. "How will I know when?"

The man laughed. "Oh, you'll know."

The stranger led him back to the bed and had him settle in. He leaned down and touched his lips to his forehead again and then moved into the shadows.

"Wait," Joe called weakly. "Tell me your name. Please."

"All right," that soft soothing voice said even as Joe felt himself slipping back into the darkness.

"My name is Jonathan."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"I want to see my son!" Ben bellowed even though he knew it would cost him. And it did. Drury Slater's hand struck him knuckles-first bringing stars. Ever since the rogue bank teller and his companion had stepped into the cabin his one focus had been on keeping them out of the room at the back where Joe lay. So far they had gone in to check on his boy twice. Slater had come out the last time saying Joe was raving with fever. He'd heard Joe talking, murmuring like someone else was in the room. He'd heard his son call his name.

It was all Ben could do not to rise with the chair still tied to his back and ram the bastard in the stomach with his head.

But he wouldn't. It would do neither of them any good. He'd just get both of them killed. He was helpless, he had to admit it, but far from hopeless. The prayer that had begun back in the ravine was his constant companion.

 _Take me, Lord, if it's time, but save my son._

 _Save my boy._

 _Save Joe._

He'd taught it to his boys. He had to believe it himself. It was in the Psalms. Those songs David had sung when it seemed all hope had run out. The Lord promised to be near to all who called Him in truth. He promised to fulfill the desires of those who feared Him.

"You promised to hear my cry and save those I love," he breathed, willing God to hear, to take up the challenge.

And was backhanded again for it.

"You talk one more time Cartwright and you won't be worryin' about that boy," Salter threatened.

If Joe had not been with him, he could have taken action. Probably escaped since there were only two of them. As it was his hands were both literally and figuratively tied. There was nothing he could do. Nothing but wait for Adam or Hoss or Roy to show up, and then pray that one of these men had a least a scrap of decency in them and would let Joe go and take him with them wherever they intended to go.

He'd seen Slater looking back toward the room where Joe lay. He was pacing even now before the door. There was a deep wound in the man into which the darkness had stolen, blackening his heart and mind to anything but his own pain. Slater had lost a wife and child. Though he had not suffered the latter grievous loss, he _had_ buried three beautiful loving wives. If a man had a reason to grow bitter, then it was him. Why was he different? Why had _he_ been able to survive and thrive where Drury had dried up and become a twisted and broken man?

There was only one answer.

Ben drew a breath and nodded. Then, in a quiet respectful voice, he asked, " _May_ I see my son?"

Drury halted in his pacing. "Is the high and mighty Benjamin Cartwright humbling himself to ask to permission?"

"Yes. You are in control."

The other man snorted and his eyes lit with something unholy. "That's right, Cartwright. I _am_ in control. I hold the power of life and death in my hands – _your_ life and death. Yours _and_ your son's."

It wasn't true, but he let him think it.

"That's right. You do. You have the power... _Mister_ Slater."

Ben's attention was drawn when the cabin door opened and Jud Mosley stepped back inside.

"Anything?" Slater asked.

The other man shook his head. "Nothin' yet. But then it's dark out. Ain't no one goin' to be movin' out there this time of night, 'specially with the rain."

Ben glanced through the open door behind the outlaw. It _was_ raining again.

Was it ever going to stop?

Drury was looking at him, his lips twisted and his small eyes narrowed.

"Untie him," Slater ordered. "Just his feet and what's holding him to the chair. Not his hands." As Jud obeyed, the bank teller added, "Then you get back out there and keep watch."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It about killed him. Sitting there, next to his child, unable to touch him. Joseph was tossing and turning, speaking now and then as if answering or asking questions. He leaned over his son's sleeping form and kissed his hot forehead, grateful at least for that small contact. As he did, the boy stirred and then roused, coming up from a deep into a light troubled sleep and then finally awake. When Joe's green eyes opened at last it was without focus.

"Pa..."

"I'm here, Joseph."

"Where...Pa? Where...?"

"Here."

"I can't...feel you."

The words were a stab to his heart. "I can't touch you, Joseph, but I'm here."

"Where's...Jonathan?"

Ben frowned. "Who's Jonathan?"

"Took...care of me, Pa," the boy licked his cracked lips. "You...too."

"There's no one here by that name, son. It's just you and me."

Joe's mobile eyebrows wrinkled in toward the middle of his forehead. "You're...wrong, Pa..." He shifted then as if his shoulder was hurting him. "Told me...I...have to...wait on..."

Ben heard movement behind him, as if Slater was coming to take him back. "Joseph, you have to listen to me. If you get a chance run, boy, _run!_ Once I know you're safe, I can take care of myself." The older man's eyes roamed the dark room fastening on the only means of escape from it. "There's a window, Joe. If you're strong enough, see if you can get it open and get out. Find your brothers. Joseph, do you hear me?"

"That's long enough, Cartwright," Drury Slater said as he caught him by the arm and drew him up and thrust him back toward the main room of the cabin.

For once he hoped the villain was right.

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Hoss Cartwright was miserable. There were a lot of reasons why, not the least of which was that he and his brother were sittin' tight at the bottom of a ravine with the rain comin' down in spades. They'd talked it over and been just about ready to climb out when a man had appeared at the top, his shadowy form showin' clear as a mountain stream that he was carryin' a gun. They'd had to hide and wait until the outlaw disappeared, and then wait some more to make sure he was gone. By the time they'd waited long enough the moon had snuck behind them dad-burned clouds that had been hangin' in the sky for what seemed like nigh onto a month now and everythin' had gone dark.

That was the first reason, the second was what they'd found just before the man appeared. More scraps of their pa's shirt wadded up and soiled with blood. Sure as shootin' one or both of them was injured and from the look of it, bleedin' pretty good.

There was a third reason too, and it was a silly one. He felt right guilty. He kept thinkin' back to that mornin' when Joe woke 'em up yellin' in his sleep. Instead of goin' in to help the little feller, he'd wormed his way out of it about as low and as slimy as he could. At least Adam had got to sit with Joe a spell before little brother went missin'.

Hoss glanced at his older brother. He didn't know how he was doing it, but Adam was asleep. He could hear him breathin', heavy-like, like he was total worn out. Between the guilt and the worry and the threat of bein' drowned, he just couldn't get to sleep. Risin' to his feet, he began to walk down the gully huggin' its side, back the way they had come, scourin' the ground by the light of the near useless moon in case he spotted somethin' they'd missed. He'd been on the move about five minutes when there was a movement within the shadows in front of him. Hoss's hand went to his weapon.

"Who's there?" he demanded in a tense whisper.

The shadow moved, but the one who cast it did not appear. "A friend."

Hoss pulled his gun from his holster. "Ain't no friend of mine fool enough to be out here in the middle of a storm at the bottom of a ravine."

"Not even if they are looking to help your father and brother as you are?"

"Who are you, Mister? And don't tell me a friend."

He thought he heard a gentle laugh. "A messenger then."

"Messenger?" The teenager blinked. "What kind of a messenger? Who sent you?"

"Someone you are coming to know. Someone who loves your father dearly. Someone who has plans for you and your brothers."

His gun was pointed toward the shadows. "You ain't makin' sense, stranger. There ain't nothin' to tell me that you ain't a part of that gang we're huntin', the one we thinks got Pa and Little Joe."

"Don't follow the ravine, Hoss. You must leave it. Go northeast of the Hinson cabin."

"Now why would I want to go there? That's God's country."

This time he did laugh.

"Precisely."

Hoss was still standin' there, holdin' his drawn gun when he heard someone call his name. The teenager blinked and turned to find his older brother emergin' from the shadows.

"What do you think you're doing?" Adam asked.

"I was... I was..." Hoss paused. He frowned as he looked at the shadows and then at his brother. Moving quickly the teenager passed into them and then came out to face a very confused Adam. "You see anyone else here?"

"Like?"

Hoss scratched his head. "Don't know. Someone."

"Well, that's helpful," Adam half-laughed. "I woke up and found you missing and then followed your trail.' There was a pause. "You think maybe you were sleep-walking?"

"I ain't never done it before."

"It can be brought on by stress and you – and I – have that in spades."

He turned back to look at the shadows again. The voice had been awful real, but then he hadn't really seen anyone. "I guess you're right," he admitted.

"I'm always right," Adam said with that little half-smile showing in his voice. "You should know that by now." Older brother waited a second and when he didn't move, asked, "Is there something else?"

"What're you plannin' on doin' tomorrow, Adam, once the sun's up?"

"Going to the Hanson's cabin."

Hoss cleared his throat. "What if I told you I don't think we're s'posed to?"

"Not 'supposed' to? Is this something again that has to do with the idea that the cabin is haunted?"

The teenager's massive shoulders lifted and fell in a sigh. "No."

"But it _does_ have to do with the supernatural?"

He shook his head. "It's natural enough. It just ain't, well, of _this_ world."

He knew his brother's eyebrows were racin' toward the hair hangin' down on his forehead.

"I...see. If it's not of _this_ world, then what world is it?"

He thought a moment. "You believe the Christmas story, Adam?"

There was a long period of silence. Longer than there should have been.

"Of course."

"Then you believe in angels."

"Well..."

"There's plenty of them in that there story, brother," he said softly. "Either you do believe or you don't."

"It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is. I don't know what they done to you at that college back East, but ever since you been home you been questionin' everythin'. Me and Pa ain't missed it. You go to church 'cause of Pa makin' you, but you ain't there."

"Are you questionin' my faith?"

Older brother was gettin' riled. He could hear it in his voice. "No, brother, _I'm_ not," Hoss said as he pushed past his brother and headed back to their camp.

"But I think _you_ are."


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

They parted ways early the next morning before the light was up. Hoss, heading northeast where his heavenly messenger had sent him and him, well, leaning on his own understanding and heading toward James Hinson's old home.

Adam figured it was maybe an hour away now. He'd get there before the light was fully up and then ...then...

What?

He'd scoffed at Hoss but it was his own speculation that had set first both of them, and now him alone on this path. He'd taken all the facts and reasoned them out and come to the conclusion that Pa, or Pa with Joe, would have followed the ravine to the cabin. They'd taught him in college – drilled it into him, really – to put aside any notion of an outside source of wisdom and to rely wholly on himself. Herodotus said, 'The destiny of a man is his own soul.' Aristotle, 'Knowing yourself is the beginning of all reason' and 'happiness depends upon ourselves.' While his pa had taught him to be self-reliant, his college friends had told him no man could _truly_ be free until he shook off the shackles of organized religion. He'd fallen away from church at college. At first there was no time and then, no desire. Coming back home he'd been made to go along with his pa and his brothers, but that was all he did – go.

Since he'd been back in the saddle at the Ponderosa he'd had time to question those friends. Their world was a different one of tall buildings reaching ever higher to the sky, of roads and railroads, of steamships and machines. They didn't ride under the pines. They'd never heard the wind whisper through them, calling out your name. Calling...

 _Adam, come home_.

It had been a shock, he had to admit, switching from that world to this one. Like his friends', his chest was all puffed out with the achievements of man and that left no room for the still small voice of God.

Had he lost the ability to hear it? Had Hoss' angelic messenger known it was pointless to try?

Adam snorted. Angels.

What was the kid going to think of next?

Returning his attention to the matter at hand, Adam continued on down the narrow ravine, even as the morning light spilled into it and illumined his way.

 _See, brother_ , he thought, a crooked smile curling his upper lip, _you're wrong._

It's me that's seen the light.

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The two men were growing agitated. Salter most of all. Ben watched the crooked bank teller pace from one end of the cabin to the other, muttering to himself; his words a jumble of hate and self-pity. When in the cabin Drury's companion, Jud Mosley, watched the other man closely, a veiled but anxious expression on his face. Ben had hoped for a time that he might be able to use that against Salter, but from the way Jud urged the other man to kill both of them and cut and run nearly every hour, he was praying – crazy as it seemed – for Drury to come out on top.

At least for the time being.

Ben shifted, trying to ease the pain in his shoulders and back. After spending the night tied to a chair, he wasn't doing a lot better than Joe. His skin was prickling again – a sure sign of fever and what was to come.

He glanced at Drury and Jud. They'd stopped pacing and come together and were speaking in low tones. Drury hadn't let him see Joseph again and he was worried about how the boy had passed the night. It was a curious thing. After a long hot day under the sun, the night was cooling, healing. But it was in the night that shadows moved and deadly things came about unawares. It was at night that a man taken ill often sank down into a different kind of darkness. One that, too often, proved permanent.

He'd come to keep his eyes away from the room in which his youngest son lay. Every time he looked Joe's way Salter became agitated. Once the bank teller had gone into the room and it had been an agonizing ten minutes before he reappeared. If not reminded, the maniac seemed to forget Joseph even existed and so he had done his best to pretend that he had forgotten too; that his son meant little to him. That hurting Joe would do little to bother him. That it certainly wouldn't _hurt_ him.

No, it would only destroy him.

Closing his eyes Ben sought the words he had repeated so often when sitting in a pew, whether in New England's days of darkness and loss or those he had passed here, in Nevada, where he had chosen to make his and his sons' home.

"You, Lord, keep my lamp burning," Ben whispered so softly no one could hear. "My God turns my darkness into light."

The older man turned opened his eyes and looked to the window. Dawn was breaking beyond it, adding streaks of a fiery red and lavender-blue to the already indigo sky. It had been some time since Drury or Jud had checked on Joe.

Had his son escaped?

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"Joseph, wake up."

Joe heard the voice. He knew who it was now. Not Pa, but his friend, Jonathan. He climbed up out of the safe place sleep had taken him and opened his eyes. Jonathan was sitting beside him.

The man with the curly chestnut hair reached out and placed a hand on his forehead. "Your fever is down."

Joe pulled himself up on the pillow. "I feel a little better. I sure am hungry though."

"I bet." Jonathan glanced toward the open door with the blanket half-covering it. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to be hungry a little longer."

Joe's gaze followed his. "Are those bad men still out there?" he whispered.

His friend nodded. "It's time, Joe."

"Time for what?" He wasn't sure why, but the man's words frightened him.

Jonathan took hold of his arm and squeezed. "To be obedient like the man you are named for."

"Pa's pa?"

Jonathan laughed. "No, Jacob's son."

Another Bible lesson. Joe frowned. "Are you a preacher?"

Jonathan's curly head shook as he released his arm. "I am a messenger as I said. Here to help and to remind you of what you already know."

He thought about it. Joseph had been taken into slavery, sold, and then when he was beginning to have a better life, someone lied about him and he was sent to prison. God made him wait a long time before he rescued him.

Joe leaned back on the pillows, his eyes threatening to close. "What you said earlier, about 'waiting' on God? Is it time?"

Jonathan nodded. "Yes. It is time. When you wake, be obedient to God and your father, Joseph. Do not look back. Head for the window. It is time for you to run."

Joe didn't know how long he laid there, thinking about what his friend had said, but when he opened his eyes the light was dawning outside. He sat up slowly, favoring his left shoulder where the bullet had blazed its trail, and then shifted his feet over the side of the bed and headed for the window, which was open. A steady breeze blew in, lifting and rifling through his hair. Joe paused when he got to it and turned toward the door, wondering where his pa was, wondering if pa was okay, wondering if he should go look.

 _Do not look back._

Joe leaned his head against the cabin wall beside the window. He really didn't understand about God. All those stories and scriptures and words, well, some of them were comforting but more of them downright scary. He'd been told that God was always there, always watching, never surprised or not knowing what was gonna come. So that meant God had known when his Ma was gonna ride up to the house and that horse was gonna throw her and she was gonna...die. After they brought her in the house he'd heard all of them praying – his brothers and his pa – for her to be okay. But she wasn't okay.

She _wasn't._

So, if he prayed now that his pa be watched over as he ran – like he'd been told by both Jonathan and his pa to do – how was he supposed to know that Pa would be all right? Wouldn't it be smarter to stay? To help Pa fight? To save him by himself?

Joe looked up at the early morning light with its shades of apricot and lavender. It was beautiful and made him think of the pictures of Heaven in his Sunday school book. It reminded him too of how small he was, not only because he was a boy, but because his pa had told him so.

'We're all small, son, and all in need of the hand of a loving God."

Joe drew in a deep breath and let it out and then he dragged a chair over to the window, climbed up on it, and – with a child's prayer on his lips that things go _his_ way – slipped out into the growing day.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright was crouchin' down on the ground readin' sign. He was puzzled by the large group of horses that had passed this way not all that long ago. It couldn't be Blunt. He was headed south. Their passage had churned up the wet ground right good, so if there'd been any tracks left by his pa or Joe, they were gone now. After risin', the teenager jammed his hands in his pockets and turned in a circle, surveyin' the part of the woods he was in. That there stranger – the one in the ravine – had told him to come here to find somethin', but there weren't nothin' here to find.

Maybe Adam had been right. Maybe he _had_ just been sleepwalkin' and made the whole thing up.

As Hoss began to move again, still searchin' the ground, thoughts he'd been denyin' caught up with him and then moved on ahead to places he didn't want to go. Joe'd been gone for days now and even though baby brother thought he could take care of hisself, he was just a little boy. There were a lot of big worries like Indians and outlaws and big cats, but it was the little ones that were nigglin' at him. What if Joe cut hisself somehow and lay somewhere alone bleedin' out? What if he tried to cross the river and fell in?

What if _he_ hadn't been in such an all-fired hurry to go back to bed that night Joe was screamin' out in his sleep? What if he'd talked to him, found out what was worryin' him? _Made_ him tell him.

What if his little brother died 'cause he wanted to _sleep?_

Hoss halted where he was, lost both physically and spiritually. There were two paths before him – literally. He stood at a crossroads and needed to choose where to go next and what to believe. The teenager thought about his pa and then, about Adam, the two older men he respected most. There was a lot about them that was the same, but there was a lot that was different too. He and pa had talked about it a couple of times since Adam had come home from college. His pa said that Adam had been presented with two paths too and that his brother would have to choose. One path led home to the Ponderosa, to the heart of the land and the hand of God. The other led to the wider world, to a place where men was busy tryin' to crowd God out with machines and noise and modern notions about a man being enough in himself. The teenager considered what Adam would do right now, right here. He'd consider everythin', weigh out his options, make a choice and then act on it. His pa would do the same thing – with one exception.

Before he finished thinkin' and started actin', Pa would check in with the Man upstairs and ask Him for help.

Hoss drew in a deep breath as he looked around. He let it out slowly as he walked to the stump of a nearby tree and sat down. Then he linked his hands together and bowed his head.

"God, it's me. Hoss Cartwright. I got a few things to ask of you, the first one being about my brother Adam..."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam Cartwright slipped through the trees out front of the Hinson cabin and took up a position about two hundred feet away where he felt it was safe he would not be seen. There were three horses tethered out front. He thought he recognized one of them as the colt Joe had taken when he ran away. He couldn't see the brand so he wasn't entirely certain. The other two were saddled and well-provisioned as if the owners feared they might have to fly any minute.

There was smoke coming from the chimney and the sound of raised voices drifted on the wind back to where he was. No words, of course, but from the sound of it he thought someone was not particularly happy. As he continued to strain to hear, the door to the cabin flew open. One man exited in haste, followed closely by another.

"I'm done waitin'!" the first man proclaimed. "I say we kill 'em both now and run while we can."

The second, older man shook his head. "They're our ticket out, Jud. You know that. Kill them and we lose our leverage."

"And if a search party comes and surrounds this place, with twenty men and twenty guns aimed at us, you think they ain't gonna manage to take us out the minute we ride away?"

"Not with a Cartwright held prisoner in the saddle before you."

Adam stiffened.

 _Dear God._

"You put an awful lot of stock in how important those Cartwrights are, Drury," Jud remarked with a scoff before spitting on the ground.

"That's because Ben Cartwright is an important man."

"What about the kid? He ain't important." Jud paused. "Sick as he is, he's just in the way."

Joe _was_ sick, or wounded. What had happened, he wondered? Had one of these two men hurt him? Adam sucked in air to calm his wildly beating heart as he drew his gun. Somehow he had to get into that cabin, but it had to be on his own terms – so he could have the upper hand.

Maybe he could sneak in a rear window.

Moving as cautiously as the terrain would allow, Adam shifted to the side and started forward, making sure to give the pair a wide berth. He'd gone no more than twenty feet when he spotted an open window. He also spotted something else. Someone crawling out of it.

Someone small.

Adam bit his lip.

Joe.

It had to be Joe going off half-cocked and reckless as usual. There was a space of a hundred and fifty or more paces between them and Joe was moving fast. With a last longing glance at the cabin where he suspected his father was being held, Adam veered away from the outlaws' hideout and into the woods in pursuit of his little brother. All the while he moved he kept thinking in his head, 'Turn around, Joe. Look back this way. Joe, _see_ me. See _me,_ Joe!'

But his brother never did. He just kept running.

Adam didn't dare call out to him, not so close to the cabin and not with the two men who held his father wanting his brother dead. The black-haired man managed to keep his eyes trained on Joe's small form, but it was all too quickly diminishing in size. The kid had to be terrified that Drury or Jud were after him and he was running like a maverick set free. Knowing Joe, he was going for help. There was no way that kid would be bright enough to be afraid.

Adam lifted his hands to his lips as he ran. He was far enough away now – he hoped.

"Joe!" he shouted, still on the move. "It's Adam! Joe, stop! Joe..."

His brother was gone. That was it. Gone. Swallowed up by trees and leaves and the shadows they cast.

Adam halted. Placing his hands on his knees, he drew in a couple of quick breaths. The black-haired man glanced back the way he had come and then forward to the point where Joe had disappeared. Closing his eyes, he listened to the conflicting voices inside his head.

 _Adam, save Pa!_ he heard Joe shout.

 _Son, leave me, save your brother._

 _Make your mind up,_ _Adam, don't just stand there,_ Hoss demanded. _You gotta save them both!_

 _Adam, you cannot do this alone._

 _Ask._

Adam straightened up and looked around. That last one... Who was that? Finally deciding that it was his fear of failure speaking, he snorted and dismissed it.

After all, who _else_ was there?

Still breathing hard Adam looked in both directions again and made a choice. Pa could take care of himself.

He had to save Joe.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright reeled from a blow to his face. A second later blood dripped from his nose. Defiantly he straightened up and met the gaze of the enraged man who stood before him.

" _Where is the boy?"_ Drury Slater screamed.

His jaw tight, he replied, "Out of your hands, Slater, and in _God's_."

"I told you we should have killed the kid!" Jud Mosley was nearly hysterical. "What if he finds a search party and brings them here?"

"We've still got Cartwright."

Ben's eyes went from one outlaw to the other. _Yes_ , he thought, _concentrate on me._ _Forget Joe. Forget my brave boy._

Jud scoffed. "We ain't got that boy, we ain't got him. Old high-and-mighty Cartwright here ain't gonna cooperate without a reason to."

"His reason is his life!" Slater screamed.

Ben locked eyes with Mosley. He saw in them a sort of grudging admiration, not enough to spare his life, but it was there.

"That's the difference between a man like him and you, Drury. You'd do just about anythin' you had to in order to save your skin." Mosley inclined his head toward him. "Cartwright'd just as soon give his up, especially if it meant savin' someone else."

"You make him sound like a saint," Drury scoffed.

"I am _not_ a saint," Ben stated quite plainly. "I'm a man." He paused and his eyes went to the corrupt bank teller. "And I am a _better_ man than you."

He was expecting to be back-handed again and he wasn't disappointed. What he didn't expect was for Slater to grab his collar and spit into his face. As the spittle dripped down Drury sneered.

"Jud. Get after that kid. Find him and _kill_ him – real slow."

He knew what Slater wanted. He wanted him to debase himself, to plead, because somehow that would make the villain think _he_ was the better man.

"He's just a boy," Ben breathed. "Leave Joseph alone. You have me."

"There's payment, Cartwright, for the life a man lives. My boy...he paid for my sins." The vile bank teller leaned in closer. "Now _yours_ is going to do the same."

"What sin have I committed that is so grievous that you would _murder_ a child?" he asked, disbelieving.

Slater looked at him. He shoved him back so hard his neck snapped before releasing the grip on his shirt.

"Try breathing."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe paused to draw in a deep gasp of air. His head was reeling and he felt like he could fall down and never get up again. Every breath he took hurt and he'd started coughing hard with nothing coming out of it. His head was pounding as hard as his heart, but he couldn't stop. Not now. Couldn't stop, not with someone chasing him.

He couldn't believe it. Someone had seen him leave the cabin! How? _How_ had they managed to be outside at the very moment his feet hit the ground?

He'd taken off like a jackrabbit the moment he saw them, running with everything that was left in him, trying to put distance between him and whoever it was as quickly as possible. The problem was, that running had slowed him down about ten minutes later when exhaustion set in. Since then he'd been moving constantly, at a loping pace, zigzagging back and forth, climbing up in to trees whenever he could and leaving the earth behind so hopefully he wouldn't leave any tracks, slowly and steadily heading toward the Ponderosa, knowing if anyone was gonna come and help it would be down the road from there.

Since then, but not anymore. Not since the coughing had started.

Giving in for the moment, Joe dropped to the ground. Wrapping his arms around his middle, he leaned forward, trying to ease the pain. It wasn't much use. Every time he coughed it felt like someone was sticking a knife in his side. Oh, and in his back too where that burn was.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, he felt like a very little boy. All of the bluster and bragging and brashness he usually had just went away. Tears rolled down his hot, filthy cheeks, wetting what was left of the shirt and trousers he'd put on that morning so long ago when he headed to Seth's place.

A sob escaped him.

Hearing it, Joe bristled. He straightened up as best he could and shook himself, and then rose to his feet. As he did, he heard someone calling his name.

Joe frowned. Who?

"Pa?" he called out.

For a second there was nothing, then an astonished, "Joe?"

The voice was pretty far away. "Pa, is that you?" he called back as he began to move toward the sound.

"Joe. It's Adam! Joe, where are you?"

Adam! Wrapped in that name was everything he needed at that moment – love , security, protection and – most of all – _home_. Blindly Joe stumbled forward, blinking back tears, crying out. "Adam! Adam, over here! I'm – "

A figure stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Joe looked up into the face of all his fears.

"You _know_ what you are, boy?" Jud Mosley asked.

"Dead."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam ran for all he was worth, pushing through the trees toward that precious voice. "Joe!" he called, his breath short, his heart pounding in his chest. "It's Adam! Joe, where are you?"

His heart skipped a beat until he heard the reply. 'Adam! Adam, I'm over here. I'm –"

And then, there was nothing.

Adam skidded to a stop, his boot heels cutting into the wet earth. The sound of his aching heart pounding in his ears was deafening. It mixed with the roar of disbelief rising in his soul. To be _so_ close. To almost have his little brother safe in his arms. No. No. Life _couldn't_ be so cruel.

But it was.

He _knew_ it was.

He'd known it when he lost his mother even before he knew her. Known it when he and his father lived in poverty. Known it again when Inger, one of the kindest spirits he had ever known, was mercilessly and pointlessly cut down with an arrow. And then again when Joe's mother – when his _third_ mother died.

Dead.

Dead

 _Dead._

"Adammmmmmmmmmm!"

"God, no," he breathed. "God, no! Not Joe! You can't take Joe!"

For a second Adam was stopped by the horror of what he had to face next and then the eldest of Ben Cartwright's sons was running, running, _running_ toward the sound of that cry. The terror in it had stabbed him more surely than the sharpest knife. As he ran his father's words came to him, whispered low by his bedside when he thought he was asleep.

' _God, bless my boy. Help him to remember that though he walks in trouble, You will stretch out Your right hand against his foes and save him. Remind Adam that every good gift comes from above from the Father of Heavenly lights. Do not let him fear or be dismayed. Remind him, Lord, that You are his strength and help and You will uphold him with Your strong right hand.'_

Adam choked back both grief and pain. Greif at the pain he had caused his family. Pain at the grief that had stopped his ears and nearly blinded him.

' _But most of all,'_ his pa's voice went on, _'help Adam to hold in his heart the truth, that we do not live for this life but the next, where You will wipe away every tear and there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for all of these things will have passed away.'_

Adam broke through the trees. Gasping for air he swung in a circle, looking for Joe and for whoever had taken his brother. It only took a minute. He found them.

His brother. A man.

And a ten foot drop into the roiling and churning waters of a river.


	9. Chapter 9

NINE

Roy Coffee had never been so startled as when he came across Ben's middle boy sittin' on a sawed-off tree trunk in the middle of the woods with his head down, prayin'. He glanced behind now to see how Hoss was doin'. The boy was just plain scared – as he had every right to be – but he was tryin' his best not to show it. Tryin' right hard to be a man for the sake of the other men he loved what was missin'. He told them about how he and Adam had parted after havin' words. The boy felt right sorry about it. When he'd asked him why, the teenager had closed up tight as a clam like whatever he had to say about Adam might put his brother in a bad light.

They was on their way now to find him.

Hoss explained how he and Adam had different ideas about how best to look for their father and missin' brother. It took a good bit of strong-armin', but finally the boy'd told him that he'd been instructed to come northeast instead of headin' south to the old Hinson place as Adam wanted him to. Now in all his years of law-keepin' he'd seen a good many things he couldn't explain, so when the boy told him about that man in the shadows tellin' him what he needed to do, he just nodded.

As the song put it, God _did_ move in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.

So now they was ridin' hard and fast as they could back toward the Hinson place, hopin' and fearin' at one and the same time that this was _one_ of those times when the Good Lord would see fit to work a wonder and bring both Ben Cartwright and his youngest boy back home.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam held his breath.

Joe's green eyes were wide and wild where they showed above his captor's arm. The man who held him was standing at the edge of the fast-running river that he and Hoss had feared only the night before might overflow and spill into the ravine to drown them. It was swollen and angry from the constant and seemingly perpetual rain that had fallen for the last few days. It rushed beneath Joe's boots where they dangled bare feet above its surface.

He had his gun drawn. His finger itched on the trigger. But the man held Joe too close and there was too much of a chance that he would hit his brother if he fired or that the man would...let go.

"Why don't you go ahead and shoot, Cartwright?" the outlaw shouted. "I fall in, baby brother does too."

"Release him!' he yelled back. "I won't shoot. Drop Joe on the ground and head into the woods. I won't follow."

"Yeah, when horses grow horns! There's only one thing that's gonna keep you off my tail and that's dropping the brat!"

"You drop him and I will _never_ be off your tail!" Adam shouted, drawing closer, his eyes on Joe. His brother was pale. Joe was breathing hard and he was looking... Adam choked. ...looking to _him_ to save him. _Hold on, Joe,_ he thought _. Hold on_. "If anything happens to my brother, I promise you that I will chase you to _Hell_ if necessary!"

"One's a certainty, Cartwright. The other a possibility. I think I'll take my chances."

And with that the villain opened his arm and Joe fell into the rushing water screaming his name.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright listened to Drury Slater pace the length of the cabin. The corrupt bank teller muttered, arguing with himself, unsure of what to do now that it seemed all of his best laid plans had come to naught. He knew Slater had a gun and that it was in his hand. He'd seen the weapon when the man moved past a few minutes before. He also knew that Drury Slater, driven as he was, was a broken man. When he'd heard him speaking of his dead son again, he'd had a twinge of empathy, but it had quickly been beaten down by the memory of Jud Mosley running out of the cabin hell-bent to retake, or worse, kill Joseph.

He had to get free.

A few minutes before Ben had gasped and moaned and then dropped his head to his chest. He'd let his breathing even out and then had started to pant, acting like it was all he could do to draw in a deep enough breath, as if his wound had finally gotten the better of him and soon he would be numb to the world. Drury had come over and touched his skin, skeptical, sure he was pretending. Though he feared the fever that licked at the edge of his consciousness, he knew the Lord could use bad things for good and it was the rising fever within him that convinced Drury Slater that he was no longer a threat.

Which made the man let down his guard.

Ben had been testing the ropes that bound him and had managed to loosen them a bit, but he was still bound to the chair. That meant both he _and_ the chair had to be the weapon to take the man down. He'd have to time it right. Make sure Slater was close and that, when he rose and barreled into him, the momentum would take them both into the wall. His only hope was to hit so hard that the chair would shatter. Once his hands were free he could take him.

God control his rage when he did.

Slater was passing before him again. The gun dangled from his fingers. Ben waited...waited... _waited._

 _Now!_

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss's reddish-blond head came up at the sound of a shot. "Roy! You hear that?"

Roy Coffee nodded. His jaw tight, the lawman signaled his men forward. Hoss waited for Roy to tell him to hang back, to tell him that he was too young. Instead the lawman looked him square in the eye and said, "You comin', son?"

"Sure am, Roy," he declared with a nod. "It'd take a whole _gol-darned_ army to stop me."

The Hinson cabin lay before them. Smoke rose from its chimney, showin' it was occupied. So Adam had been right and he'd been wrong. Pa and Joe had been here all along and he'd gone off followin' some _goldarned_ dream he'd had of a messenger from God.

Now _who_ was the fool?

Even as they pulled up out front of the cabin and dismounted they heard the sounds of a scuffle within. There was another shot, a cry of disbelief...

And then everythin' went silent.

Roy exchanged a look with his deputy and then turned to him. "You wait here, boy, while I go in. there's no tellin' what we'll –"

Hoss caught his arm. His voice and it shook as he nodded and said, "Roy. Look!"

It was his pa.

His pa was standin' in the open door!

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Drury Slater lay dead on the floor behind him, his gun still smoking. After knocking the other man into the wall and stunning him long enough that he could wriggle out of his bonds, they'd both gone for it. While they struggled it had fired and Slater had dropped, gasping at first and then falling silent. It had been then Ben had heard the horses. Then, he had heard a familiar voice.

Roy Coffee's voice.

And now, here with Roy, was his middle boy. This was one safe. This _one._

There were still two to go.

Stumbling forward Ben reached toward Hoss, wanting just to touch him, but at that moment his strength failed. His voice did too. It was all he could do to manage to rasp out as he fell to the ground, "Joseph... Hoss...you have to...find...Joe."

Hoss was beside him in an instant, touching him, caressing his hair. "Adam's lookin', Pa. _Adam's_ gone after Joe. You just rest, Pa. I'll go too. We'll take care of baby brother."

He started to push himself up. "Got...to...go..."

"Now, Ben, you ain't goin' anywhere." He'd felt Roy pulling at his shirt, seen him looking underneath. "That there's a nasty wound. Looks to be infected. You ain't gonna do that boy any good if you kill yourself lookin' for –."

"You don't...understand!" he breathed, clawing at Roy's shirt. His eyes went to his son, pleading with him to do something, _anything_ – to somehow breathe strength and new life into him so he _could_ go after Joseph. "Slater told Mosley to...kill Joe. To kill him...slowly."

Hoss' anger reflected his own. "That ain't right, Pa. Joe's just a kid!"

"Mosley's...a devil, Hoss. That means...nothing." Ben blinked. His sight was going and the dark was closing in. "God," he breathed.

"You hurtin' bad, Ben?" Roy asked, concern rattling his voice.

Yes, he was hurting. But not in the way Roy thought.

"God," he whispered again as the last of consciousness fled. "God save my boy."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When Joe hit the water it was like a slap in the face, only the river smacked him all over instead taking his breath away. Before he knew it he was under the surface and then above it again, gasping like a fish fresh out of water. As he was propelled downstream Joe struck out with his hands, trying to swim, but the current was too strong and faster than he could think he went under again. He could hold his breath a long time – he and Seth had practiced and he could do it for almost two minutes – and so Joe drew in air until his lungs were full and held it as the water reached out and dunked him for a third time.

The next time he came up he heard his brother calling. Adam's voice was funny. It sounded like his pa's had that time he'd disobeyed and crawled under the corral fence and Pa had found him standing in the middle of a bunch of fast flying horses. Pa'd run to him and caught him in his arms and then they'd stayed there, in the middle of all those powerful beautiful horses, and he hadn't been afraid.

Adam was afraid.

" _Joe!"_

As he went under again, Joe's mind filled with an image from his past – he was looking down from the branches of a tree and Pa was looking up. _Look at me,_ Pa, he'd thought. _Look at me, I can fly._ And then he'd let go of the tree branch because he knew his pa would catch him.

Look at me, Adam. Look at me. I'm not afraid.

I know you'll catch me.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe was going to drown.

His brother was going to drown right in front of his eyes!

Adam ran for all he was worth along the edge of the river, almost keeping pace, ever so slowly falling behind. He'd already lost a chance to catch his little brother once. Joe's fingers had been just within reach when the water pulled his brother down and swallowed him. As he'd stood there for a split-second, staring in disbelief at his empty hand, he'd realized there was absolutely _nothing_ he, as a man, could do. He couldn't engineer it so the river dry up or conjure a dam out of thin air to stop his brother's fatal progress. He couldn't run fast enough or reach far enough. He couldn't do _anything._

Anything but pray.

Adam's jaw was tight. The words were hard, like the words a man has to say to a father when he knows he's been wrong. His eyes went to his brother's small form as Joe was swept around a bend in the river, his curly brown head disappearing from sight.

"Father, I've got nothing. No strength. No knowledge. _Nothing_." Adam swallowed hard as he began to run again. "Nothing but You. Please, God, _save_ my little brother. Send someone to help him if I can't.

"God, please, _please_ , save Joe."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe felt the river's current slow a bit as he rounded the bend. Before him the waterway opened up and he knew he would soon be swept out and drown. There was a big fat tree that had fallen and was laying over the edge not too far away from him. It's roots stretched out like a hand with open fingers. He concentrated on it, gauging how far away it really was and just when he'd have to fight the current to reach and make a grab for it. The problem was his strength was failing. His muscles were so tired and he was _so_ cold.

It was coming now. Coming right at him. He...just...had...to...catch...hold...

Fingers closed on his and Joe looked up to see a familiar face.

"I've got you, child," Jonathan said as he lifted him from the river and anchored him on a low-lying branch. Joe felt those gentle fingers on his hair, the ones that felt so like Pa's. "Rest, Joseph, your brother's almost here."

"Adam?" he asked wearily. "Adam's here?"

"Yes, child," the man with the curly hair said as he turned to look back the way he had come.

"Adam's home."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Roy Coffee stood starin' at the ragin' river. They'd arrived in time to catch Jud Mosley but too late to save Little Joe.

It had been all he could do to keep Hoss from tearin' the man apart once they heard his story. Mosley had spit like a snake, strikin' out with as much venom as he could once he know'd who the teenager was, tellin' him he drowned his little brother and that there weren't nothin' that older brother of theirs could do to make it not so. Mosley'd know'd he was done and the outlaw was damn sure he wasn't gonna be the only one.

Hoss was standin' now at the edge of the river, starin' at the water, lost.

Roy said a word or two to his deputy and watched as he led Mosley away and then went to talk to the boy.

"Son," he said quietly.

Hoss's clear blue eyes flicked to his face and then away. The boy's was shinin' with tears and it was all he could do to keep from sobbin'. Adam must have lost his hat when he started runnin', 'cause Ben's middle boy had it in his hands. His fingers kept ringin' it like they had to have somethin' to do since they couldn't squeeze the life out of the man what took his brother from him.

Roy eyed the river again. How was he gonna tell Ben when he woke?

He tried again. "You did your best, son."

Hoss shook his head vehemently. "If I hadn't a believed I saw that man, if I'd gone with Adam..."

"Then I wouldn't be here, son and, for all he beat that Drury feller, your pa would be layin' on that cabin floor dead instead of bein' alive and tended by Thom."

Pain wrinkled Hoss' young face. "But _Joe..."_

Roy placed a hand on his shoulder. "You couldn't have done any more than your brother did, son. Adam tried his best. It's just God's will – "

Hoss jerked away. "How can my little brother bein' drownded be God's will! God ain't... He _cain't_ be that cruel!"

"He isn't Hoss."

The voice startled them both and they both turned in unison toward it. Adam Cartwright was standin' a ways down by the side of the river. He was shirtless. In his arms was a small form wrapped in the dry red shirt he'd been wearin'.

Hoss shuddered from head to toe.

"Joe!"

A second later the boy was runnin' for all he was worth.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam stood there waiting. In his hands he held all that at that moment was precious in the world. It had been a miracle, plain and simple. There was no way Joe should have been able to reach the roots of that tree let along climb up into them, and yet that was where he found him, cradled in the tree's arms like a babe, suspended over the rushing river that would have happily swept him away to his death. He'd had to be careful, climbing out and reaching down. He did it with a prayer on his lips as he would do everything from this day forward, knowing God was there and knowing He listened even when it seemed He didn't.

After all, how else could he explain what had just happened?

What he'd understood when he drew his little brother alive from that living cradle – when he was certain Joe was dead – was that _no matter_ how much he loved his little brother he couldn't be there every minute. Much as he wanted to protect him – and he would do his best – it would _never_ be enough. He had to trust, had to believe in a higher power that would keep his brother safe against the day when he was called, like his own mother, like Inger and Marie, to really and truly go home.

Adam's lips quirked.

"Wait a long time for this one, God," he said as he looked down at Joe. "Good and long."

At that moment Hoss arrived. The big fellow had been running for all he was worth but stopped just short of reaching them as if, well, as if he was afraid. Tentatively he reached out and touched Joe's head.

"How is he, Adam?"

He didn't know. He'd done what he could, removing Joe's wet clothing and wrapping his baby brother in his dry shirt. He'd chafed Joe's hands and watched as some small amount of color returned to the boy's cheeks. But Joe was breathing hard and his skin was on fire. Still, his brother was here. He was alive.

There was hope.

Adam met his middle brother's anxious stare.

"God only knows."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright woke to a world of pain filled with hushed voices. Firelight flickered low, casting weird shadows around the room. He opened and closed his eyes several times, fighting nausea, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Then he moaned.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Pa," a soft voice said even as a hand was laid on his arm.

In the darkness it was hard to see, but as his eyes adjusted Ben realized it was Adam who was sitting next to him. Even as he blinked another face appeared over Adam's shoulder – a broad, concerned one.

"How ya feelin', Pa?" his middle son asked.

Ben's eyebrows peaked. "I've been better," he grunted as he shifted to ease a pain in his side.

"Well, that's to be expected when you put yourself in the path of a bullet and walk a mile with it still buried in your hide," Adam said quietly as he squeezed his arm. "We're grateful you're still with us, Pa."

His eldest's words made him frown. _When_ had he been shot? When _walked?_ And then, suddenly, he knew. He saw it. Joe running toward the rocks. Joe...falling...a bullet striking his back.

"Joseph? Where's your brother?"

"Calm down, Pa," Hoss said, grinning. "You'll wake the little feller."

"Wake?" Ben looked at his sons and then followed their gaze to the small form lying curled up in the bed beside him. His hand trembled as he reached out to touch him. He had to know – hadto know _this_ was real. When his fingers touched the boy's back, he sighed. "Joseph..." A moment later, he asked, "How is he?"

Adam pursed his lips, a sure sign he had something to say that he didn't want to. "He's not out of the woods yet, Pa. Roy sent a man to get Doc Martin. Paul should be here soon." Ben watched as his eldest reached to place a possessive hand on his brother's head. "He'll be okay, Pa. God will keep him."

He'd worried about Adam since he'd come home. The boy's head was so full of knowledge that he feared there'd be no room for what really mattered – home, his brothers –

God.

Still, there was the hard question. He'd had to ask it of Adam so many times – too many times for someone so young.

"And what if He doesn't?" Ben asked, the query as much for himself as for his son. "What if God _doesn't_ keep Joe safe?"

"Either way, Pa," his eldest said, placing a hand on both of them. "Either way, he'll be home."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam rocked his chair back and ran his hands through his hair and then looked at his little brother where he lay on the bed, swaddled like a baby. Doc Martin had insisted they stay put at the cabin for nearly a week in order to let Joe and Pa heal. After the fourth day their father was pronounced well enough to leave the bed, but he seldom went any farther than the chair beside it. Joe was sick. Really sick. Fortunately, Joe hadn't been in the river all that long and the Doc said there wasn't much water in his lungs, but the trip down the rushing stream combined with everything else – the brand he'd gotten from the bullet that could have killed him, the soaking Joe had taken in the rain, and just the shock and exhaustion – all of those together had culminated in a fever so high Paul had almost given him up.

His father wouldn't give up though. He sat by that bed, holding Little Joe's hand day and night, his lips moving in constant prayer. At times he'd taken a place beside him, lending his voice, but mostly he was listening and feeling privileged that he could. His pa wrestled with God like Jacob had, telling the Lord that he couldn't _have_ his son, reminding God of His promise that He had a plan for Joe, a plan not to _hurt_ him but the make him prosper. Adam smiled as he let the chair's legs fall back to the floor with a thump. Back at school, his classmates had said that men who had to rely on an idea of God were weak, that they needed a crutch, that they didn't have the _strength_ to stand on their own. He knew now how wrong they'd been.

There wasn't _one_ _single thing_ that wasweak about Benjamin Cartwright.

Joe had spent most of the last four days raving, calling out for pa and for someone named Jonathan. None of them had any idea who that was, though they thought maybe it was someone who had helped him somehow along the way.

They were all there, listening and watching, when Joe started talking plain as the day was long.

"Don't go," he said, clear as a bell.

In spite of his own wound, which still pained him, Pa leaned in and took his brother's hand. "No one is going anywhere, Joseph. We're here. Your brothers and I are here."

"Will I see...you again?"

His father looked at him. The Doc had told them Joe was better. The fever was down and he'd soon be on the mend.

When his father nodded to him, he tried. "Joe, it's Adam. Who are you talking to?"

His brother's face screwed up in a frown. "Jonathan. Tell him...not to go..."

 _Jonathan._ His little brother had mentioned that name often. He'd screamed and cried it over the last four days.

He looked at his father and then at Hoss. Then he prodded, "Who's Jonathan, Joe? Can you tell me?"

His brother's lips parted in a sigh. "Saved me... Pulled me...out..."

Adam exchanged a look with his father. Then he looked at Hoss. "Joe," he asked, leaning in close, "can you describe Jonathan?"

At first his little brother said nothing. Then a smile bent the corner of Joe's lips upward. "Looked like...me. Lots of curly hair. Handsome..."

Hoss snorted. "Now, don't he just take the cake?"

Adam wasn't laughing, he was frowning. His eyes went to his father. "You don't think... Do you think what Joe saw was real, Pa? That _Jonathan_ is real?"

"For now we'll accept the fact that Joe thinks he's real, Adam. That's all that matters after all."

Adam nodded.

But he didn't agree.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben was sitting in Joe's room, fighting nodding off. It was the moonlight, he told himself, streaming in the window, and the stillness. Stretching, he glanced at the door, remembering Doc Martin's form walking through it not all that long ago. The Doc had come back on the sixth day and pronounced him and Joseph fit to travel on the seventh. Horace Blunt had come with him. Blunt was to provide an escort and make certain they made it home safely. Ben could have ridden, but chose instead to sit in the back of the wagon and hold his son, insistent on letting the boy know by that touch that even though the mysterious Jonathan might have left, he wasn't alone.

He'd never _be_ alone.

It was a bittersweet moment when Ben laid his son in his own bed at the ranch house and took a seat in the chair beside him. There were only a few times in Joe's short life that he had felt completely helpless. One had been when his son had the whooping cough. This was another. There was _nothing_ he could do. Paul had come and gone here as well and said he 'd done everything he could.

The rest was up to God.

That was the problem with faith. It held you up when nothing else could. It supported a man and gave him the strength to continue. And should the worst come, it sustained him through the dark days and gave him the sure and certain hope to go on. But it was not a panacea. Faith did not promise a simple or easy path. It didn't keep a man from hurting or from losing. It only kept him going, putting one foot in front of the other, reaching out in the midst of the darkness for that ray of light that would one day lead him home.

"You are a wise man, Benjamin," a soft voice said.

Ben started and frowned as he gazed around Joseph's room. "Who's there?" he demanded.

A man appeared, silhouetted against the pale light that fell through Joseph's window. He was slight and had a head of curly hair. There was a smile in the voice that replied.

"A friend."

"How did you get in here?"

The smile remained. "You invited me."

"I did no such thing..."

"'God, are you here? Do you hear me? I've lived a good life, Lord, I'm ready. But my boy...'" The man's words flowed like the river that had sought to take Joe's life, swift and sure _._ "'He's so very young. Save him, Lord. Take me if you have to, but save Joe.'" The man paused. "'Please, send someone to save him...'"

Ben's fingers gripped the bed frame going white. "Who are you? And don't tell me 'a friend'."

The man came closer. The moonlight struck his hair painting it bronze. "A messenger then."

"A messenger?" he frowned. "What message do you bring?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Well done."

Ben woke with a start and looked up to find Adam standing beside him. His eldest had his hand on his shoulder and was watching him closely.

"Is something wrong, Pa?" he asked, concerned.

Ben looked at his youngest sleeping peacefully for the first time in over a week and then covered his oldest boy's hand with his own.

"Nothing is wrong, son. In fact," he touched Joe's curly head with his other hand, noting that at last the fire was gone. "In fact, everything is going to be _all_ right


	10. Chapter 10

EPILOGUE

Two sleepy heads appeared outside of their bedroom doors, followed closely by two very weary male forms.

Twenty-two year old Adam Cartwright rubbed his head and then ran a hand along the back of his neck as he looked down the hall toward his little brother's room. "How many nights has it been now?" he asked his brother Hoss.

"Four," the teenager said, shaking his own head of reddish-blond hair.

" _Only_ four? Are you sure?" Adam sighed. "I'm thinking it's five."

Hoss thought a moment. "You know, I think you're right."

"Five nights without nightmares," Adam said, yawning. "Will wonders never cease."

"So how come you and I are out here, standin' in the hall in our night shirts at two o'clock in the mornin' when Joe _ain't_ yellin'?"

Adam pursed his lips. "It's _too_ quiet?"

The teenager snorted. "If that don't beat all."

Without warning the door to Joe's room opened and their father stepped out. The older man pulled the door closed behind him. "What are you two doing up?" he asked as he ran a hand across his stubbled chin.

Hoss cocked his head and placed a hand on the back of his neck and then grinned that irresistible grin he had. "We could be askin' you the same thing, Pa."

"You could," the older man admitted, "but then I don't have to answer while you two do."

"Oh, right," Hoss said looking down.

"It's too quiet, Pa," Adam said.

" _Too_ quiet?" Their father snorted. "Are these the _same_ two boys who complain almost nightly about their sleep being disturbed by their little brother's nightmares?"

Adam crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, yeah, that would be us, but you see..."

"No, I don't." Pa right eyebrow arched toward his graying hair. "Why don't you make me 'see'?"

"It's _too_ dang quiet, Pa," Hoss spit out. "Leastwise when Joe's shoutin' we know, well, we know he's there."

Their father's look softened. He nodded as if he understood. Then he admitted, with a sheepish grin, "Why do you suppose _I_ was in Joe's room?"

Hoss shook his head. "I'd sure be happy to hear Joe shoutin' about havin' dragons in his bed again."

"Or telling Polly Prentiss to take a hike," Adam agreed.

Their father nodded. "Well, I am sure your little brother will soon be exercising his lungs once more." A strange look came over the older man's face. "As soon as they're mended enough to do so."

"What did Paul say when he came in tonight?" Adam asked. He and Hoss had been out attending to ranch business. The doctor had left and their pa gone to bed before they were able to ask what he'd said.

"Joe's out of danger, but there's some serious mending to do ahead. He'll be confined for a few weeks and then, even after that, unable to go to town to school for quite some time."

"I'll teach him, Pa," Adam said, adding with a shrug, "all that schooling's got to be good for something."

His father's other eyebrow joined the first one, lifting toward his hairline. "Is that _all_ it was good for?"

"That ain't all, Pa," Hoss said soberly.

They both turned toward him. "Oh?" they said in concert.

"You know that black hat I bought Adam last Christmas?" his brother asked. "Seems his head got big enough it's finally gonna fit."

Their Pa yelled at them a minute later for wrassling in the hall and sent them both to bed.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe turned his head toward the door. He could hear his pa and brothers talking in the hall. Most likely they were talking about him. For the first few days he'd thought they were the bad men who shot his pa and he'd yelled and yelled trying to make them go away. Then, a day or two back – he wasn't really sure how long – he'd opened his eyes and looked and seen his pa and Adam and Hoss all looking back at him. He knew then he was safe. He knew he was home. He knew that everyone who mattered was there with him. Everyone _but_ one.

He missed Jonathan.

He wasn't really sure who Jonathan was, but he _was_ sure he was real. Pa kept telling him all that mattered was if he was real to him, and Adam and Hoss kind of smiled and then looked away. But he knew. _He_ knew.

He _knew_ Jonathan was real.

"Your father and your brothers know the truth in their hearts, Joseph. They are simply too old to admit it with to themselves."

Joe looked and found him, standing in front of the open window, the wind ruffling his curly chestnut hair. "You came back."

Jonathan left the window and came to the bed. As he sat down, he said, "I never left."

"But I haven't seen you – "

"And you won't most of the time. But I'll be here."

Joe drew a breath and summoned what little energy he had to raise up and prop himself on the pillows. "Who are you?"

Jonathan reached out and brushed the curls away from his forehead. "I told you, Joseph. I am a messenger."

He nodded. "I remember. I asked Pa about that and he said that's the Greek word used in the Good Book for 'angel'." Joe's face was a portrait in concentration. "I've been thinking about it. _Are_ you an angel?"

"Do you believe in angels, Joseph?"

He thought a moment more and then nodded.

"And what do you think an 'angel' is?"

"Well, I think it's kind of like my pa," he said. "He can't be everywhere at once so he's got all these ranch hands. I think..." Joe paused. "I think maybe angels are God's hands."

Jonathan nodded solemnly. "Well put."

"So..." He hesitated again. "Have you...well... _seen_ God?"

The man with the curly hair smiled. "Many times."

"What's He look like?"

Jonathan reached out and laid a hand alongside his cheek. "You have seen him many times too, Joseph."

"No, I ain't."

"Yes, you have. You see Him in your father's love, in his care, and even in his anger. You felt Him in your brother Adam's loving arms as he drew you from the river like Moses and wrapped you in warm dry clothes, and heard him in your brother Hoss's voice when he called so desperately, thinking you were lost. You know God in Paul Martin's touch and in Roy Coffee's wary stare." Jonathan caressed his head. "You are surrounded by God, Joseph, every day in every way. He is in the heart of those you love."

"So God doesn't have a face? I mean, like you and I do?"

"God's face is infinitely wise; the look out of his eyes, infinitely profound. Were you to see Him you would fall senseless at His feet."

Joe's voice was hushed. "Do _you_ fall senseless?"

Jonathan straightened up and rose. "Always."

"Are you going away?" Joe asked. "I don't want you to go."

"Look in your father's eyes, Joseph. Look _to_ your brothers' arms. You will find me there. And when there is a special need, well, you may see me again. There will come a time, though, when you have grown too old for me like your brothers, and then you will find me as a voice in your ear warning you of danger, a shadow that your eyes see that says 'beware', and as the answer to the prayers your lips whisper."

"I'll _never_ grow too old," Joe protested even as he yawned and began to slide down the pillow. "I _swear_ I won't..."

Jonathan laughed as he leaned forward to ruffle his curly hair.

"You know, Joseph, you might just be right."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright sat in the big blue velvet chair by the hearth. He'd tried to return to bed after subduing his boys, but sleep eluded him. As he sat there, his Bible open on his lap, he thought back over the last two weeks. The trip to Placerville had been routine. Go to the bank, get the payroll money, come home and pay the men. One man – one sick greedy man had changed it all. He'd lost two good men. He'd been shot and his youngest son had almost died, and for what? For money. Not even for power, or for glory.

Just money.

Ben leaned his elbow on the chair arm and ran his fingers across his chin. Then he pressed his lips to the back of his hand and stared. So much had happened, it was hard to take it in. Once he and Joseph had fallen off the road's edge, it all became a jumble until he woke up in the cabin, though he remembered the long walk along the ravine carrying his injured son with crystal clarity, and the prayer that had issued from his lips as he lay there at the bottom thinking – no, _believing_ they were both going to die. He had no memory of how they had come to be in the cabin. Joseph said it was his friend Jonathan. Jonathan had carried them there, he insisted. Jonathan had cared for them...

Jonathan, Joe insisted, was _real._

It had taken some work to convince Joe that he was not to blame for what happened. In time his son had come to see that the choice he'd made due to his nightmare – to run off and try to save him – had done just that. If Joseph had not shown up when he did, most likely he would have been dead. Slater and Mosley would have taken his money and killed him outright and then headed to the Ponderosa for more, putting his brothers' lives in danger as well. Joseph's intervention – showing up when he did – had tipped the scales. Drury Slater thought he could be controlled through his son and so both their lives were preserved to that end. Joe's nightmare had been the catalyst, but it was his son's headstrong impulsive nature that had saved them in the end.

And saved Adam as well.

His oldest son had been drifting. He knew it. He'd given the boy his head and let him sail free. Now it seemed, due to the trial they had endured, that Adam and his faith had come safely home to harbor.

Ben shifted and looked again at the text that lay open before him. He'd been searching for it and found it at last. It was a Psalm number ninety-one, in fact, and it read in part –

' _For He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.'_

Or be struck by a bullet.

Or become the prey of evil men.

Or fall into a raging river.

As Ben closed the Bible he rose and went to the open window. Looking at the rising sun beyond it, for a moment – just a moment – he thought he saw a slight man with curly hair standing on the horizon looking back at him. The man remained still for a moment and then he raised a hand and waved before disappearing into the dawning light.

Ben did the same, although he didn't disappear into the light. Instead he went upstairs to his bed and laid down and quickly fell asleep, his vigil over.

God was watching.


End file.
